HBPBMWWfcmWWW* 


"1 


LIBRARY 

I   UNIVERSITY  or  I 

VcAUFORNU/ 


r 


he  had  lin'ments  fur  de  body. 
An'  de  Bible  fur  de  soul." 

O/'  Mist  is. — Page  112. 


'Weh  Down  Souf 

and  other  Poems 


DANIEL  WEBSTER  DAVIS 


Illustrations 
WILLIAM  L.  SHEPPARD 

Cover  Design 
ELIZABETH  GEARY 


THE  HELMAN-TAYLOR  COMPANY 

CLEVELAND 

1897 


LOAN  STACK 


COPYRIGHTED,  1897 

THE  HELMAN-TAYLOR  COMPANY 

ALL  RIGHTS  RESERVED 


Emprrtnl 

CLEVELAND. 


To  my  faithful  and  affectionate  wife 

this  volume 

is  lovingly  dedicated 

by  the  author. 


037 


CONTENTS. 

PAGE 

'Weh  Down  Souf    ....          7 

Bakin'  an'  Greens               .  .  .10 

Keep  Inchin'  Along  .  .12 

De  Biggis'  Piece  ub  Pie      .  .  14 

Hog  Meat              .  .16 

Fishin'  Hook  an'  Worms    .  .  19 

Sense  'Kinley's  'Nogurashun  .  .22 

Why  he  Saved  the  Engine  .  -25 

Emancipation         .              .  .  27 

When  de  Sun  shines  Hot    .  .  -34 

Fell  f rum  Grace     .              .  .  -37 

Christmas  Dreams               .  •  41 

Signs          .              .              •  •  '43 

The  Owl  Song        ...  46 

De  Nigger's  Got  to  Go       .  .  .48 

The  Baby  Show          .  -53 

De  Linin'  ub  de  Hymns     .  .  -54 

Stickin'  to  de  Hoe              .  .  -57 

My  Childhood's  Happy  Days  .  .       60 

Exposition  Ode      .              .  .  6  5 

Skeetin'  on  de  Ice               .  .  7 2 


Contents. 

PAGE 

OP  Virginny  Reel  .  v  .        75 

A  Rose      .  V  .  .       79 

Pomp's  Case  Argued  .  .  .81 

When  You  Gits  a  Rabbit  Foot         .  .       83 

Mat  .  .  .  .  .85 

De  Ghana  Cup       .  .  .  .87 

I  can  Trust  .  .  .  9 1 

Old  Normal  .  .  .  .92 

Ginger  Snaps  and  Cider      .  .  .97 

I  Wonder  How  This  Is  .  .     101 

Miss  Liza's  Banjer  .  .  .103 

Hope         .  ....     106 

De  Baptis'  Chuch.  .  .  .107 

Payin'  fur  de  Hydin  .  .  .no 

OP  Mistis  .  .  .  .112 

Is  dar  Wadermilluns  on  High  .  .116 

Cookin'  by  de  Ol'-Time  Fire-Place  .     118 
Uncle  'Rastus  and  the  Whiskey  Question     .      120 

Night  on  de  OP  Plantashun  .  .122 

Aunt  Chloe's  Lullaby.         .  .  .     125 

Good  Night  .  .  .  .127 

Appendix  .  .  »  .129 

Glossary    .          '*'.  .  .  .134 


VI 


Weh  Down  Souf. 


'WEH  DOWN  SOUF. 

O,  de  birds  ar'  sweetly  singin', 

'Weh  down  Souf, 
An'  de  banjer  is  a-ringin', 

'Weh  down  Souf; 
An'  my  heart  it  is  a-sighin', 
Whil'  de  moments  am  a-flyin', 
Fur  my  horn'  I  am  a-cryin',' 

'Weh  down  Souf. 

Dar  de  pickaninnies  's  playin', 

'Weh  down  Souf, 
An'  fur  dem  I  am  a-prayin', 

'Weh  down  Souf; 
An'  when  I  gits  sum  munny, 
Yo'  kin  bet  I'm  gon',  my  hunny, 
Fur  de  Ian'  dat  am  so  sunny, 

'Weh  down  Souf. 

7 


'Weh  Down  Souf. 

Whil'  de  win'  up  here's  a-blowin', 

'Weh  down  Souf 
De  corn  is  sweetly  growin', 

'Weh  down  Souf. 

Dey  tells  me  here  ub  freedum, 
But  I  ain't  a-gwine  to  heed  um, 
But  I'se  gwine  fur  to  lebe  urn, 
Fur  'weh  down  Souf. 

I  bin  up  here  a-wuckin, 

From  'weh  down  Souf, 
An'  I  ain't  a  bin  a-shurkin' — 

I'm  frum  'weh  down  Souf; 
But  I'm  gittin'  mighty  werry, 
An'  de  days  a-gittin'  drerry, 
An'  I'm  hongry,  O,  so  berry, 

Fur  my  horn'  down  Souf. 

O,  de  moon  dar  shines  de  brighter, 

'Weh  down  Souf, 
An'  I  know  my  heart  is  lighter, 

'Weh  down  Souf; 
8 


'Weh  Down  Souf. 

An'  de  berry  thought  brings  pledjur, 
I'll  be  happy  dar  'dout  medjur, 
Fur  dar  I  hab  my  tredjur, 
'Weh  down  Souf. 


'Weh  Down  Souf. 


BAKIN'  AN'  GREENS. 

Yo'  may  tell  me  ub  pastries  an'  fine  oyster  patties, 
Ub  salads  an'  crowkets  an'  Boston  baked  beans; 

But  dar'snuffin'  so  temptin'  to  dis  gent'mun's  palate 
Ez  a  big  slice  ub  bakin'  an'  plenty  ub  greens. 

Jes'  bile  'um  right  down,  so  dey'll  melt  when  yo' 

eat  'um; 
Hab  a  big  streak  ub  fat  an'  a  small  streak  o' 

lean. 

Bar's  nufrm'  on  urf  yo'  kin  fix  up  to  beat  'um, 
Fur  de  king  ub  all  dishes  am  bakin'  an'  greens. 

Den  tak'  sum  good  cohn  meal,  an'  sif '  it,  an'  pat  it, 
An'  put  it  in  ashes  wid  nuffin'  between; 

Den  blow  off  de  ashes,  an'  set  right  down  at  it, 
Fur  dar's  nufrin'  lik'  ash-cake,  wid  bakin'  an' 
greens. 

'Twill  take  de  ol'  mammies  to  fix  'um  up  greazy, 
Wid  liker  an'  dumplin's  de  bes'  you  hab  seen; 
10 


'Weh  Down  Souf. 

Take  all  yer  fin'  eatin's — I  won't  be  uneazy, 
Ef  you'll  lebe  me  dat  bakin'  an'  plenty  ub  greens. 

Sum  folks  may  lik'  tucky,  an'  sum  may  lik'  chicken, 
But   my  heart  fills  wid  joy,   an'  wid  pledjur  I 

beams, 
When  I  kum  home  frum  wuck  an'  a  day  ub  hard 

pickin's, 

An'  am  greeted  wid  bakin'  an'   a  big  dish  ub 
greens. 

Rich  folks  in  dar  kerrige  may  fro  de  dus'  on  me, 
But  how  kin  I  enby  dem  men  ub  big  means; 

Dey  may  hab  dispepsy,  an'  do'  dey  may  scom  me, 
Dey  kan't  injoy  bakin'  wid  lots  ub  good  greens. 

You  may  put  me  in  rags,  fill  my  cup  up  wid  sor- 
row, 

Let  joy  be  a  stranger,  an'  trouble  my  dreams; 
I  still  will  be  smilin',  no  pain  kin  I  borrow, 

Ef  I  still  kin  git  bakin',  wid  plenty  ub  greens. 


}  j 


>Weh  Down  Souf. 


KEEP  INCHIN'  ALONG. 

Do'  de  load  be  mighty  hebby 

An*  de  road  be  'ceedin'  ruff, 
Do'  yer  lim's  be  mighty  tired 

An'  de  paf  be  dark  enuf, 
You  still  mus'  keep  a-singin* 

To  cheer  yo'  on  de  road, 
4t  Fur  de  lane  mus'  hab  a  turnin'  " 

An'  lighter  grow  de  load. 
Keep  inchin'  along. 

What  do'  de  load  is  hebby 

An'  de  burden  mek  yo'  sigh, 
Jes'  ben'  yer  back  a  little — 

'Twill  be  better  bime-by; 
De  cloud's  a-hangin'  hebby 

Ez  yo'  journey  on  de  way, 
But  dar's  a  silber  linin' ; 

You'll  see  it,  too,  sum  day. 
Keep  inchin'  along. 
12 


'Weh  Down  Souf. 

'Cause  when  yo'  see  de  sunshine 

Yo'  think  erbout  de  rain, 
An'  when  de  rain's  a-pourin' 

De  sun  will  shine  again. 
So  tiz  wid  all  de  troubles 

Dat  dis  oP  wor?  kin  gib — 
Do'  it  rain  to-day,  to-morrow 

'Twill  shine  ez  shorz  yo'  lib. 
Keep  inchin'  along. 

Bime-by  de  journey's  ober 

An'  heben  will  hebe  in  sight, 
An'  fur  all  de  sighs  an*  moanin's 

De  Lord  will  mek  it  right. 
Fur  de  road  is  gittin'  shorter, 

An'  lighter  gits  de  song, 
An'  yo'  mos'  kin  hear  de  angels 

Ez  dey  sings  a  welkum  horn*. 
Keep  inchin'  along. 


'Weh  Down  Souf. 


DE  BIGGIS'  PIECE  UB  PIE. 

When  I  wuz  a  little  boy, 

I  set  me  down  to  cry, 
Bekaze  my  little  brudder 

Had  de  biggis'  piece  ub  pie. 
But  when  I  had  become  a  man 

I  made  my  min'  to  try 
An'  hustle  roun'  to  git  myself 

De  biggis'  piece  ub  pie. 

An',  like  in  bygone  chil'ish  days, 

De  worl'  is  hustlin'  roun' 
To  git  darselbes  de  biggis'  slice 

Ub  honor  an'  renown; 
An'  ef  I  fails  to  do  my  bes', 

But  stan'  aroun'  an'  cry, 
Dis  ol'  worl'  will  git  away 

Wid  bof  de  plat'  an'  pie. 

An'  eben  should  I  git  a  slice, 
I  mus'  not  cease  to  try, 

14 


'Weh  Down  Souf. 

But  keep  a-movin'  fas^  ez  life, 
To  hoi'  my  piece  ub  pie. 

Dis  ruff  ol'  worl'  has  little  use 
Fur  dem  dat  chance  to  fall, 

An'  while  youze  gittin'  up  agin' 
'Twill  take  de  plat'  an'  all. 

Yet,  ef  I  fin'  my  fellow  man 

Don'  miss  his  piece  ub  pie, 
An'  dis  hard  world  is  standin'  roun' 

To  kick  him  ef  he  cry, 
An'  do'  my  poshun  may  be  small, 

I'll  ack  jes'  like  er  man, 
An'  gib  to  him  a  piece  ub  min', 

To  help  him  ef  I  can. 

Fur  when  tiz  mine  to  go  alone 

To  de  happy  horn'  ub  love, 
I  kin  not  take  de  smallis'  piece 

To  dat  bright  Ian'  above; 
An'  when  I  reach  de  gol'en  gate, 

In  de  glory  Ian'  on  high, 
I'll  not  be  axed  how  much  I  had, 

But  how  I  used  my  pie. 


'Weh  Down  Souf. 


HOG  MEAT. 

Deze  eatin'  folks  may  tell  me  ub  de  gloriz  ub 

spring  lam', 
An'  de  toofsumnis  ub  tucky  et  wid  cel'ry  an'  wid 

jam; 
Ub  beef-st'ak  fried  wid  unyuns,  an*  sezoned  up  so 

fin'— 
But  yo'  jes'  kin  gimme  hog-meat,  an'  I'm  happy 

all  de  tim'. 

When  de  fros'  is  on  de  pun'kin  an'  de  sno'-flakes 

in  de  ar', 

I  den  begin  rejoicin' — hog-killin'  time  is  near; 
An'  de  vizhuns  ub  de  fucher  den  fill  my  nightly 

dreams, 
Fur  de  time  is  fas'  a-comin'  fur  de  'lishus  pork  an' 

beans. 

16 


'Weh  Down  Souf. 

We  folks  dat's  frum  de  kuntry  may  be  behin'  de 

sun — 
We  don't  lik'  city  eatin's,  wid  beefsteaks  dat  ain' 

don'- 
'Dough  muttun  chops  is  splendid,  an'  dem  veal  cut- 

lits  fin', 
To  me  'tain't  like  a  sphar-rib,  or  gret  big  chunk 

ub  chine. 

Jes'  talk  to  me  'bout  hog-meat,  ef  yo*  want  to  see 
me  pleased, 

Fur  biled  wid  beans  tiz  gor'jus,  or  made  in  hog- 
head  cheese; 

An'  I  could  jes'  be  happy,  'dout  money,  cloze  or 
house, 

Wid  plenty  yurz  an'  pig  feet  made  in  ol'-fashun 
"  souse." 

I  'fess  I'm  only  humun,  I  hab  my  joys  an'  cares — 
Sum  days  de  clouds  hang  hebby,  sum  days  de  skies 

ar'  fair; 

But  I  forgibmy  in'miz,  my  heart  is  free  frum  hate, 
When  my  bread  is  filled  wid  cracklins  an'  dar's 

chidlins  on  my  plate. 


'Weh  Down  Souf. 

'Dough  possum  meat  is  glo'yus  wid  'taters  in  de  pan, 
But  put  'longside  pork  sassage  it  takes  a  backward 

stan'; 

Ub  all  yer  fancy  eatin's,  jes  gib  to  me  fur  min' 
Sum  souse  or  pork  or  chidlins,  sum  sphar-rib,  or  de 

chine. 


18 


'Weh  Down  Souf. 


FISHIN'  HOOK  AN'  WORMS. 

De  lubly  sky  is  hangin'  wid  de  clouds  ub  heb'ny 

blue, 
An*  de  little  birds  a-wabblin'  like  dey'd  bus*  dar 

froats  in  two; 
De  gentle  kows  a-lowin'  in  the  medder  'mong  de 

cohn, 
While  de  tree-frog  is  a-singin'  in  de  fresh  an'  rosy 

morn; 
But  ub  all  de  lubly  vizhuns  dat's  floatin'  fore  my 

min', 
De  sweetes'  is  de  brook-side,  wid  fishin'  hook  an' 

lin'. 

When  de  sun  is  jes'  a-peepin'  from  its  sof '  an'  balmy 

bed, 
While  de  dew  is  on  de  flowers,  an'  de  shades  ub 

night  is  fled, 

19 


'Weh  Down  Souf. 

I  takes  my  dinner  bucket,   when   de  day  is  jes' 

begun, 
An'  I'm  gwine  off  a-fishin'  tell  de  eb'nin'  shadders 

kum; 
An'  'tain't  no  use  to  tell  me  dat  de  worP  ain't 

bright  an'  fhar, 
While  de  kat-fish  is  a-bitin',  and  de  sun  shines 

ebrywhar. 

De  politishuns  tell  me  dat  de  votin'  is  de  thing 
To  put  us  into  power  an'  de  happiness  to  bring, 
But  yo'  kan't  tell  me  nuffin',  'cause  I  ain't  bin  no 

fool, 
Sense  de  days  dey  had  me  'spec tin'  forty  acres  an' 

a  mule. 
Ef  dey  wants  to  hab  me  votin',  dey  kin  bring  me 

up  to  terms 
Ef  dey '11  gib  me  little  lezhur  an'  sum  fishin'  hooks 

an'  worms. 

When  de  sun  is  shinin'  brightly,  jes'  erbout  de  time 

ub  noon, 
An'  de  flies  ar'  lazy  buzzin'  wid  a  sweet  an'  lubly 

chune, 

20 


'Weh  Down  Souf. 

I'se  a-settin'  dar  a-noddin',  like  a  scholar  wid  his 

book, 
While  de  fishes  is  a-bitin'  all  de  bait  frum  off  my 

hook. 
You   may  say  dat   I   am  lazy,   'cause  I  ain't  no 

'risticrat, 

But  I  gwine  to  hab  sum  pledjur  do',  in  spite  ub 
all  er  dat. 

An'  when  de  slantin'  shadders  tell  de  swif  ap- 
proach ub  night, 

An'  de  linnet  an'  de  robin  quickly  homeward  wings 
dar  flight, 

I  gethers  up  my  bucket  an'  de  fishes  dat  I  caught, 

An'  seeks  my  'umble  cottage  ez  an  hones'  fellow 
ought; 

So,  all  de  cares  an'  troubles  dat  dis  oF  worl'  kin 
bring 

I'll  bear  widout  kumplainin',  ef  I've  fishin'  in  de 
spring. 


21 


'Weh  Down  Souf. 


SENSE  'KINLEY'S  'NOGURASHUN, 

I  bin  votin'  mighty  long, — 
Thought  'twuz  my  salvashun — 
Now  my  hopes  don'  riz  right  up, 
Sense  'Kinley's  'nogurashun. 

\ 

Feel  so  good,  I  boun'  to  shout 
Jes'  like  all  tarnashun, 
'Cause  we  folks  don'  struck  it  rich, 
Sense  'Kinley's  'nogurashun. 

'Bin  to  Wash 'ton,  bless  yer  soul, 
To  see  de  'nogurashun, 
'Kinley  to?  me,  "Jes'  keep  still,  " 
Gwine  gimme  situashun. 

Silver  bugs  look'd  mighty  sick, 
Standin'  roun'  de  stashun, 
To  see  us  gent'mun  ridin'  in 
To  'Kinley's  'nogurashun. 

22 


'Weh  Down  Souf. 

Gwine  to  sell  my  ole  gray  mule, 
Rent  out  my  plantashun ; 
I  nebber  'specks  to  farm  no  mo', 
Sense  'Kinley's  'nogurashun. 

Wheat  gwine  grow  on  hen  nes'  gras1- 
'Dout  no  limitashun; 
Chickens  roos'  right  on  de  groun', 
Sense  'Kinley's  'nogurashun. 

Gold  gwine  like  de  goad  vine  grow — 
We'll  git  'siderashun, 
'Cause  we  gwine  hab  all  we  want, 
Sense  de  'nogurashun. 

Whi'  folks  now  mus'  set  right  back, 
In  dis  mighty  nashun ; 
'Kinley  sez  our  time  is  kum, 
Sense  his  'nogurashun. 

Wadermilluns  gwine  grow  wild — 
Don't  dat  beat  de  nashun ! 
'Kinley  toP  me  all  dese  things, 
At  de  'nogurashun. 

23 


'Weh  Down  Souf. 

Tak'  hur,  whi'  folks,  lemme  kum  by; 
I  wants  no  botherashun, 
Fur  dis  gent'mun's  feelin'  large, 
Sense  de  'nogurashun. 


24 


'Weh  Down  Souf. 


WHY  HE  SAVED  THE  ENGINE. 

The  train  was  swiftly  running,   the  engineer  was 

late— 
With  greatest  speed  was  running  to  meet  an  awful 

fate; 
Before  it  was  a  washout,  which  threatened  death 

to  all, 
For  none  could  hope  for  succor  from  such  an  awful 

fall. 

Uncle  'Rastus  saw  the  danger,  and  ran  to  wave  it 

back; 
And,  in  spite  of  rheumastism,  went  running  up  the 

track 
Wildly  waving  his  bandanna, —  the  moment  was 

sublime, 
Thank  God !  at  last  they  saw  him,  and  stopped  the 

train  in  time. 

When  they  realized  the  danger  from  which  they  had 

been  saved, 
Strong  men  wept  and  women  fainted — they'd  been 

so  near  the  grave ; 

25 


'Weh  Down  Souf. 

Fair  hands  seized  on  those  black  ones,  kind  hearts 

gave  tribute  due, 
And  Uncle  'Rastus  stood  there,  scarcely  knowing 

what  to  do. 

A  purse  was  made  up  quickly,  and  praise  un- 
stinted fell; 

How  did  he  come  to  do  it,  they  all  asked  him  to 
tell. 

' '  You  see,  de  thing  wuz  dis  way :  I  kum  up  to  de 
scratch, 

I  didn't  want  dat  ingine  tumblin'  in  my  wadennil- 
lun  patch." 


26 


'Weh  Down  Sou£ 


EMANCIPATION. 

Read  at  the  Emancipation  Exercises,  True  Reformers'  Hall, 
January  i,  1892. 

Blest  freedom !  'tis  the  sweetest  strain  that  fills  the 

human  heart; 
Its  blessings  doth  delight  the  soul,  and  sweetest  joys 

impart. 
The  feathered  songsters  of  the  grove  were  mute  if 

caged  in  gold, 
And  though  in  rags,   the  heart  that's  free  finds 

ecstasy  untold. 

Upon  the  ocean  calm  and  deep  a  vessel  rides  the 
waves, 

The  freight  upon  her  swelling  breast — twenty  hu- 
man slaves, 

Far  from  their  native  land  to  dwell  beneath  an 
alien  sky, 

Far  from  that  dear  and  sunny  land  where  Afric's 
waters  lie. 

27 


'Weh  Down  Souf. 

She  landed  on   Virginia's   shore,  near  where  we 

stand  to-day  t 

And  gaze  upon  a  lovely  group  clad  all  in  bright 

array. 
Memories  strong  and  deep  arise,  and  quick  the 

tear-drops  spring, 
As  we  think  of  what  to-day  we  are,  and  what  we 

late  have  been. 


But  yesterday,  and  dark  the  clouds  that  hung  above 

our  sky; 
To-day  'tis  past  and  full  of  joy;  the  clouds  have 

drifted  by, 
The  day  we  longed  and  prayed  for  sore  at  last  has 

blessed  the  sight, 
And  that  we  come  to  celebrate — who  can  but  say 

'tis  right? 


E'en  in  our  slav'ry  we  can  trace  the  kindly  hand 

of  God, 
That  took  us  from  our  sunny  land  and  from  our 

native  sod, 

28 


'Weh  Down  Souf. 

Where,  clad  in  Nature's  simplest  garb,  man  roamed 
a  savage  wild, 

Untamed  his  passions ;  half  a  man  and  half  a  sav- 
age child. 


But  God,  to  teach  him  His  dear  will,  saw  fit  to  bring 

him  where 
He  learned  of  Him  and  Jesus  Christ  those  lessons 

rich  and  rare. 
He  made  the  savage  into  man,  tho'  moulded  by 

the  rod; 
And  Ethiopia  has,  indeed,  stretched  forth  her  hands 

to  God. 


He  was  a  man  and  felt  as  men,  his  soul  with  an- 
guish burned; 

His  heart,  too,  longed  for  nobler  things,  for  higher 
missions  yearned; 

But  God  still  held  him  to  the  blast,  and  still  afflicted 
sore 

And  still  he  groaned,  and  still  he  prayed,  yet  still 
his  burden  bore. 

29 


'Weh  Down  Souf. 

i 

But,  like  the  cries  of  Israel  old,  his  prayers  ascended 

high, 
To  reach  the  great  Jehovah's  throne,  beyond  the 

azure  sky; 
His  conq'ring  power  brought  freedom  down,  and 

broke  the  chain,  despair, 
And  bade  the  Negro  walk  with  men,  as  free  as 

Nature's  air. 


But  was  he  true?     Speak,  Bunker  Hill,  and  Boston 

Common,  say, — 
Did  he  defend  from  British  foe  on  that  historic 

day? 
While  thousands  stood  with  heaving  breast,  and 

dared  not  strike  a  blow, 
A  Negro's  voice  cheered  on  the  throng,  and  bade 

them  charge  the  foe. 


His  blood  was  spilled  to  gain  a  place  in  battle's 

honored  roll, 
And  Crispus  Attuck  nobly  stands  among  the  heroes 

bold; 

30 


'Weh  Down  Souf. 

And  if  we  speak  of  valiant  deeds,  and  love  of  coun- 
try fair, 

Must  not  begrudge  his  well-bought  fame,  but  place 
a  laurel  there. 


To-day  is  hushed  the  cannon's  roar,  and  peace 
reigns  everywhere, 

And  blessed  freedom  makes  our  land  the  fairest  of 
the  fair. 

Shall  we  who  helped  to  make  it  bloom  and  blos- 
som as  a  rose, 

Be  cast  aside,  unworthy, — our  upward  course  op- 
posed? 


We  love  her  and  are  loyal  as  the  truest  of  her 

sons; 
For  her  our  blood  was  shed,  for  her  we  faced  the 

deadly  guns. 
We'll  strive  to  have  her  take  her  place,  the  first  of 

any  land ; 
Stand  ready  to  defend  her  soil  from  ev'ry  alien 

band. 

31 


'Weh  Down  Souf. 

But  God  has  freed  us,  and  to  Him  we  bow  in  praise 
to-day. 

He'll  never  leave  us  nor  forsake,  but  will  protect 
alway; 

And,  conscious  of  a  heart  that's  true,  with  purpose 
brave  and  strong, 

We'll  leave  our  cause  in  those  just  Hands  that  can- 
not do  a  wrong. 


'Tis  the  blessing  that  we  celebrate,  and  not  the 

cause  now  lost, 
For  that  was  dear  to  other  hearts  as  this  can  be 

to  us. 
And  who  were  right  or  who  were  wrong,  we  are 

not  here  to  say, 
For,  still  in  death,  they're  heroes  all — the  blue, 

likewise  the  gray. 


And  now,   the  din  of  battle  past,  they  are  our 

friends  the  same; 
Not  such  as  come  to  get  our  votes,  not  friends 

alone  in  name, 

32 


'Weh  Down  Souf. 

But  friends  who  deep  in  honest  hearts  do  wish  us 

greatest  joy. 
God  grant  this  friendship  e'er  may  last  and  be 

without  alloy. 

Then  let  us  all  with  one  accord  now  join  the  ju- 
bilee, 

And  praise  our  God  who  rules  o'er  this  the  new 
land  of  the  free, 

And  babes  unborn  in  future  years  will  rise  to  call 
us  great 

For  fixing  now,  for  coming  time,  "  The  Day  We 
Celebrate." 


33 


'Weh  Down  Souf. 


WHEN  DE  SUN  SHINES  HOT. 

Yo'  may  talk  erbout  de  snowflakes, 

An*  de  pleasen'  winter  breeze ; 
Ub  de  pledjurs  foun'  in  skeetin', 

When  de  ice  begins  to  freeze; 
Ub  de  'joyments  ub  de  winter, 

Dat  yo'  think  a  happy  lot — 
But  gib  to  me  de  summer, 

When  de  sun  shines  hot. 

Dis  shiv'rin'  an'  a-freezin' 

Will  nebber  do  fur  me, 
Fur  when  de  win's  a-blowin' 

I'ze  miz'ble  ez  kin  be. 
An1  jes'  erbout  November 

I  draws  up  in  er  knot, 
An*  don'  begin  ter  straightin' 

'Tell  de  sun  shines  hot. 

34 


'Weh  Down  Souf. 

But  'long  wid  frogs  an'  lizzuds, 

When  de  sun  kums  out, 
My  bones  begin  er  thawin', 

An'  I'm  ready  fur  to  shout. 
Fur  de  happy  thoughts  ub  summer 

Makes  me  feel  all  right, 
Fur  de  wadermillun's  kumin' 

When  de  sun  shines  bright. 


Maybe  wuck's  gittin'  skace, 

An'  de  meal  bag  low; 
But  I  nebber  feels  de  trouble 

Ef  it  is  erbout  to  go, 
Fur  de  good  times  's  on  us, 

An'  I  'joys  my  lot, 
'Cause  de  wadermillun's  kumin' 

When  de  sun  shines  hot. 


Den  lemme  'lone,  hunny; 

Don'  'sturb  dis  dream, 
Ez  I  set  here  a-dozin', 

De  field's  gittin'  green, 

35 


'Weh  Down  Souf. 

An'  I  don'  kheer,  my  hunny, 
Ef  I  gits  wuck  or  not, 

Fur  de  wadermillun's  kumin', 
When  de  son  shines  hot. 


'Weh  Down  Souf. 


FELL  FRUM  GRACE. 

I've  bin  brung  befo'  dis  meetin', 

An'  de  truf  I  gwine  to  tell — 
Yes,  I  took  de  jedge's  chickens, 

An'  sense  den  my  min's  a  hell. 
So,  my  brudders,  I  pleads  guilty, 

An'  I  owns  up  lik'  er  man 
Dat  is  kotched  whip  doin'  murder 

Wid  de  blood  upon  his  han's. 

Gwine  to  tell  a  straight  tale  'bout  it — 

Not  a  thing  I  gwine  konseal, 
'Cause  my  konshuns  don'  kondem  me; 

De  Lod  he  knows  how  bad  I  feel. 
Ez  I  passed  Jedge  Johnson's  manshun, 

Ez  I'd  of 'en  don'  befo', 
Dar  I  spied  his  hin-house  open, 

'Dout  no  lock  upon  de  do'. 

37 


'Weh  Down  Souf. 

Brudders,  won't  y'all  own  t'wuz  temptin'? 

So  I  kayed  dem  chickins  off, 
An'  jes'  only  fur  saf  keepin', 

Took  an'  hid  'urn  in  de  lof. 
All  night  long  I  thought  erbout  it — 

"  Shell  I  tak'  dem  chickins  back?  " 
But  de  ve'y  nex'  day  wuz  Krismus, — 

Is  y'all  'sprised  I  jumped  de  track? 


Forty  years  bin  in  good  standin', 

Hoed  my  ro'  in  shade  an'  shine; 
Nuther  saint  nor  sinner  suffud 

From  no  low-down  ack  ub  min' . 
But,  ez  yuthers  don'  befo'  me, 

I  jis'  halted  in  de  race, 
An'  de  fus'  thing  dat  I  knowed  un 

I  had  tumbled  down  frum  grace. 


Do'  I  makes  a  full  confeshun, 
Yet  I  feel  I  'zerbs  yer  raf , 

But  in  mussy  sphar  er  sinner 
Dat  hez  stumbled  frum  de  paf ; 

38 


'Weh  Down  Souf. 

An'  I  makes  dis  'umble  promis' 
'Fore  de  chuch  upon  my  knee, 

Dat  hereafter  I  shall  try  to 
Let  my  neighbors  chickins  be. 


I  jes'  tol'  de  jedge  erbout  it — 

He  had  of  en  gin  me  lif' , — 
What  y'all  reggin  dat  he  tol'  me  ? 

"  Tak'  dem  fur  my  Krismus  gif .' 
I  so  glad  I  couldn't  thank  him, 

An'  my  eyes  stretch  wid  surpris', 
Den  he  sed  dat  I  wuz  hones' — 

Gin  me  dollah,  too,  besiz'. 


Then  up  spoke  the  good  old  pastor : 

"  Ez  de  Lord  duz  always  keep 
Larg'  kumpashun  fur  de  strayin', 

We  forgibs  dis  erin'  sheep. 
Should  Gabul  serch  dis  congregashun 

Fur  de  chickins  dat  don'  gone, 
I'm  mighty  feard  we'd  all  be  lackin', 

So  don'  let  us  cast  a  stone." 

39 


'Weh  Down  Souf. 

Then  the  chuch  burst  into  singing 
As  they'd  never  sung  before, 

And  the  preacher  told  the  sinner : 
"Go  in  peace  an'  sin  no  mo'." 


/fo 


'Weh  Down  Souf. 


CHRISTMAS  DREAMS. 

As  I  sit  to-night  I'm  dreaming, 
While  the  moonlight's  brightly  beaming 
And  the  stars  keep  watch  above  me, 
For  my  heart  is  light  and  free. 
Now  a  vision  comes  before  me, 
And  a  joy  is  stealing  o'er  me, 
As  in  dreams  I  see  my  stocking 
Hanging  'neath  the  mantle  tree. 

Now  my  mother  comes  before  me, 
And  is  lightly  bending  o'er  me — 
Looks  to  see  if  I  am  sleeping, 
So  that  Santa  Glaus  may  come. 
She  stoops  to  kiss  me  fondly, 
While  things  grow  dim  around  me, 
And  I'm  far  away  in  dreamland, 
While  she  softly  leaves  the  room. 

In  the  morning,  quickly  waking, 
While  my  heart  with  joy  is  quaking, 


'Weh  Down  Souf. 

As  I  wonder  if  Old  Santa 
Could  have  coldly  passed  me  by; 
Oh !  what  happy,  blissful  feeling 
To  my  raptured  sight  revealing, 
As  a  world  of  Santa's  goodies 
Greet  my  eager,  watching  eye. 

Now  I  wake — 'twas  only  dreaming — 
And  the  thoughts  so  blissful  seeming 
Pass  away  in  gloomy  shadows, 
And  the  world  seems  dark  and  cold; 
Mother's  gone  from  earthly  sorrow, 
In  the  sweet  and  bright  to-morrow 
Where,  an  angel  fair,  she's  watching 
O'er  the  lambs  of  Heaven's  fold. 

In  this  world  there  still  is  grieving 
I,  her  child,  must  be  relieving, 
While  the  pealing  bells  of  Christmas, 
Chiming  on  the  evening  air, 
Bring  sweet  joy  to  hearts  now  breaking, 
Help  the  downcast  and  forsaken, 
Tell  the  bruised  and  the  bleeding 
That  the  world  is  still  so  fair. 
42 


"•But  when  she  had  to  turn  erroun' 

sumptn*  she  furgtts 
es  a  cross-mark  on  de  groun> 
turns  erroun'  an>  spits" 


'Weh  Down  Souf. 


SIGNS. 

My  Sarah  Ann  don'  b'leve  in  signs, 

Sense  she  don'  bin  to  skule; 
She  sez  we  folks  ain't  got  no  sense, 

An'  almos'  calls  us  fools. 
Wid  all  de  changes  she  don'  made, 

One  thing  I  know  fur  sho', 
She  don'  bresh  all  de  cobwebs  down, 

But  de  horseshoe's  ober  de  do'. 

An  '  tother  day  she  start  to  chuch 

Wid  all  her  fal-de-rals, 
'Long  Lucy  Ann  an'  'Rushy  Jeems, 

An'  lots  er  yuther  gals ; 
But  when  she  had  to  turn  erroun' 

Fur  sumpin'  she  furgits, 
She  meks  a  cross-mark  on  de  groun' 

An'  turns  erroun'  an'  spits. 

43 


'Weh  Down  Souf. 

An'  when  her  nose  begin  to  itch 
Huccum  she  stays  at  horn'  ? — 

'Cause  dat  dar  sign  don'  nebber  fail- 
Somebody  gwine  ter  kum; 

But  t'ain't  no  use  ter  tell  me,  do', 
Bar's  sump'n  in  de  min' 

Ub  ebry  true-bon'  cullud  gal 
Dat  meks  her  b'leve  in  signs. 


I  prides  myself  upon  my  wuck 

When  I  whitewash  a  fence — 
De  man  dat  won'  be  satisfied 

Mus'  surt'ny  lack  fur  sense; 
But  when  dese  sizly-sozly  rains 

Kum  fallin'  to  de  groun' 
An'  wash  aginst  it  long  ernough, 

Dat  whitewash  mus'  kum  down. 


So  'tiz  wid  ebry  cullud  chip, 
Do'  it  may  be  my  own, 

De  skules  kin  nebber  'raderkate 
De  thing  dats  in  de  bon'. — 

44 


'Weh  Down  Souf. 

While  folks  is  gittin'  smart,  ez  sho* 
Ez  whitewash  made  frum  lime. 

I  gwine  b'leve  what  de  Bible  sez 
Erbout  signs  ub  de  times. 


45 


'Weh  Down  Souf. 


THE  OWL  SONG. 

(A  song  of  the  "  Owl  Club.") 

Bird  of  the  night !  to  thee, 
Perched  on  the  forest  tree, 

Our  song  we  raise ; 
Thy  deeds  we  celebrate, 
And  thy  great  works  narrate, 
Thy  fame  we  advocate, 

In  notes  of  praise. 


The  turkey  may  be  sweet, 
And  many  birds  you  meet 

Are  splendid  "fowl"— 
Not  e'en  the  eagle  bold, 
Nor  birds  with  plumage  gold, 
Nor  song-birds  young  or  old, 

Can  touch  thee,  Owl ! 
46 


'Weh  Down  Souf. 

And  whence  comes  thy  great  name, 
Bird  of  the  noble  fame ! 

Of  being  wise? 
'Tis  for  thy  silent  tongue 
That  oft  thy  praise  is  sung, 
And  oft  thy  name  is  rung 

Up  to  the  skies. 


47 


'Weh  Down  Souf. 


DE  NIGGER'S  GOT  TO  GO. 

Dear  Liza,  I  is  bin  down-town 

To  Marster  Charley's  sto', 
An'  all  de  talk  dis  nigger  hear 

Is,  "  Niggers  got  to  go." 
I  'fess  it  bodders  my  ol'  head, 

An'  I  would  lik'  to  kno', 
What  all  we  cullud  folks  is  don', 

Dat  now  we'z  got  to  go  ? 

I  hear  dem  say  dat  long  ago 

To  ol'  Virginny's  sho', 
Dar  kum  a  ship  wid  cullud  folks, 

Sum  twenty  odd  or  mo'  j 
Dey  tells  me  dat  dey  hoed  de  corn, 

An'  wuz  good  wuckers,  sho', 
Dey  made  Virginny  like  de  rose — 

But  now  dey's  got  to  go. 
48 


'Weh  Down  Souf. 

Dat,  when  oP  Ginnel  Washin'ton 

Did  whip  dem  Red-koats  so, 
A  nigger  wuz  de  fus'  to  fall 

A-fightin'  ub  de  fo' ; 
Dat,  in  de  late  "  unpleasunness  " 

Dey  watched  at  marster's  do', 
Proteckin'  ub  his  lubin'  ones, — 

But  now  dey's  got  to  go. 


I  'fess  I  lubs  dis  dear  oP  plac( 

'Twuz  here  we  beried  Jo' ; 
An'  little  Liza  married  off, 

So  menny  years  ago. 
An'  now  wez  feeble,  an'  our  lim's 

A-gitting  mighty  slo'. 
We'd  hate  to  lebe  de  dear  oP  place — 

But  den,  wez  got  to  go. 


I  don't  kno'  much  'bout  politicks, 
An'  all  dem  things,  yo'  kno', 

But  de  las'  'leckshun  I  jes'  vote 
Ez  de  whi'  folks  toP  me  to; 

49 


'Weh  Down  Souf. 

Dey  tole  me  vote  fur  Dimikrats, 

An'  'twould  be  better,  'do' 
Sense  now  dey  don'  de  leckshun  win, 
Dey  sez  we'z  got  to  go. 


Dey  sez  de  whi'  folks  mad  'long  us, 

'Cause  we  kummin'  up,  yo'  kno'; 
An'  sum  un  us  is  gittin'  rich, 

Widdo'-bellsondedo'; 
An'  got  sum  lawyers,  doctors  too, 

An'  men  like  dat,  fur  sho'. 
But  den  it  kan't  be  jes'  fur  dis 

Dat  we  all  got  to  go. 


De  Lord  he  made  dis  lubly  Ian' 

Fur  white  an'  black  folks  too, 
An'  gin  each  man  his  roe  to  ten' — 

Den  what  we  gwine  to  do  ? 
We  'habes  ouselbes  an'  'specks  de  laws, 

But  dey's  peckin  mo'  an'  mo*. 
We  ain't  don'  nuffin  't  all  to  dem, 

Den  huccum  we  mus'  go  ? 


'Weh  Down  Souf. 

Fur  ebry  nashun  on  de  glob* 

Dis  seems  to  be  a  horn' ; 
Dey  welkums  dem  wid  open  arms, 

No  matter  whar  dey  frum; 
But  we,  who  here  wuz  bred  an'  borhn, 

Don't  seem  to  hab  no  show; 
We  ho'ped  to  mek  it  what  it  is, 

But  still  we'z  got  to  go. 


It  'pears  to  me,  my  Liza,  dear, 

We'z  got  a  right  to  stay, 
An'  not  a  man  on  dis  broad  urf 

Gwine  dribe  dis  nigger  'way. 
But  why  kan't  whi'  folks  lef  us  Ion', 

An'  weed  dar  side  de  ro' ; 
An'  what  dey  all  time  talkin'  'bout — 

"  De  nigger's  got  to  go  ?  " 


"  'Rastus,"  Liza  sed,  "  trus'  in  God, 
He'll  fix  things  here  belo', 

He  don't  hate  us  bekase  we'z  black — 
He  made  us  all,  yo'  kno' ; 


'Weh  Down  Souf. 

He  lubs  us,  ef  we'z  cullud  folks, 

Ef  de  hart  is  white  an'  pure, 
An'  'cepin'de  Lord  sez, — *  Forward,  march !' 

We'z  not  a-gwine  to  go." 


'Weh  Down  Souf. 


THE  BABY  SHOW. 

Babies  large,  and  babies  small, 

And  babies  fat  and  fair; 
The  fond  mammas  and  fond  papas 

Had  all  the  young  ones  there. 

"  The  paper  man  "  just  viewed  the  scene, 

And  decided  in  a  minute ; 
That  the  infant  with  the  "  kinky- top  " 

Was  certainly  not  "  in  it." 

A  few,  though  fat  and  chubby  sprites, 
With  mothers  to  defend  them, 

Because  their  colors  ' '  ran  to  dark, ' ' 
Had  nothing  to  commend  them. 

Perhaps  to  some  this  argues  ill, 

And  some  no  doubt  are  frightened ; 

But,  to  my  mind,  it  demonstrates 
We  are  simply  being  enlightened. 

53 


'Weh  Down  Souf. 


DE  LININ'  UB  DE  HYMNS. 

Dar's  a  mighty  row  in  Zion,  an'  de  debbil's  gittin' 

high, 
An'  de  saints  don'  beat  de  sinnuz,  a-cussin  on  de 

sly. 

What  fur  it  am,  you  reggin?  I'll  tell  you  how  it  'gin; 
'Twuz  'bout  a  berry  leetle  thing  —  de  linin'  ub  a 

hymn. 

De  young  folks  say  'tain't  stylish  to  lin'    'um  out 

no  mo' ; 
Dat  dey's  got  edikashun,  an'   dey  wants  us  all  to 

know 
Dey  likes  to  hab  dar  singin' -books  a-holin'  fore  dar 

eyes, 
An'  sing  de  hymns  right  straight  along  "  to  man- 

shuns  in  de  skies." 

Dat  it  am  awful  fogy  to  give  'um  out  by  lin', 
An'  ef  de  ol'  folks  will  kumplain  'cause  dey  is  ol' 
an'  blin', 

54 


'Weh  Down  Souf. 

An'  slabry's  chain  don'  kep'  dem  back  frum  larnin* 

how  to  read — 
Dat  dey  mus'  take  a  corner  seat,  an'  let  de  young 

folks  lead. 


We  bin  'peatin'   'hine  de  pastor  when  he  sez  dat 

lubly  prayhr, 
'Cause  sum  un  us  don'   kno'  it,  an'  kin  not  say  it 

squahr ; 
But  now  we  mus'   'peat  wid  him,  an  ef  we  kan't 

keep  time, 
De  gospil  train  will  drap  us  off  from  follin'  on 

behin'. 


Well,  p'raps  dey's  right,  I  kin  not  say;  my  lims  is 

growin'  ol', 
But  I  likes  to  sing  de  dear  ol'  hymns,  'tiz  music  to 

my  soul; 
An'  'pears  to  me  'twont  do  much  harm  to  gin  'um 

out  by  line, 
Dat  we  ol'  folks  dat  kin  not  read  may  foller  'long 

behin'. 

55 


'Weh  Down  Souf. 

But  few  ub  us  am  lef '  here  now  dat  bore  de  slabry 

chain, 
We  don'  edikate  our  boys  an'  gals,  an'  would  do 

de  same  again; 
An  Zion's  all  dat's  lef  us  now  to  cheer  us  wid  its 

song— 
Dey  mought  'low  us  to  sing  wid  dem,  it  kin  not  be 

fur  long. 

De  sarmon's  highfalutin',  an'  de  chuch  am  mighty 

fin'; 
We  trus'  dat  God  still  understand  ez  in  de  days 

ub  min', 
When  we,  'do'  ignunt,  po'  an'  mean,  still  wushuped 

wid  de  soul, 
Whil'  oft  across  our  peaceful  breas'  de  wabes   ub 

trouble  roll. 

De  ol'-time  groans  an'  shouts  an'  moans  am  passin' 

out  ub  sight — 

Edikashun  changed  all  dat,  an'  we  belebe  it  right, 
We  should  serb  God  wid  'telligence;  fur  dis  one 

thing  I  plead : 
Jes'  lebe  a  leetle  place  in  chuch  fur  dem  ez  kin  not 

read. 

56 


'Weh  Down  Souf. 


STICKIN'  TO  DE  HOE. 

Bar's  mighty  things  a-gwine  on, 

Sense  de  days  when  I  wuz  young, 
An'  folks  don't  do  ez  dey  did  once, 

Sense  dese  new  times  is  kum ; 
De  gais  dey  dresses  pow'fulfin', 

An'  all  am  fur  a  sho', 
But  de  thing  dat  I'ze  in  favor  ub 

Is  stickin'  to  de  hoe. 

Larnin'  is  a  blessed  thing, 

An'  good  cloze  berry  fin', 
But  I  likes  to  see  de  cullud  gal 

Dat's  been  larnt  how  to  'ine' ; 
Gimme  de  gal  to  wash  an'  scrub, 

An'  keep  things  white  an'  clean, 
An'  kin  den  go  in  de  kitchin 

An'  cook  de  ham  an'  greens. 

57 


'Weh  Down  Souf. 

I  ain't  got  no  edikashun, 

But  dis  I  kno'  am  true, 
Dat  raisin'  gals  too  good  to  wuck 

Ain't  nebber  gwine  to  do; 
Dese  boys  dat  look  good  'mif  to  eat, 

But  too  good  to  saw  de  logs, 
Am  kay'n  us  ez  fas'  ez  smoke, 

To  Ian'  us  at  de  dogs. 


I  'spose  dat  I'm  oP  fashun', 

But  God  made  man  to  plow, 
An'  git  his  libbin  by  de  sweat 

Dat  trickles  down  his  brow. 
While  larnin'  an'  all  dem  things 

Am  mighty  good  fur  sho', 
De  bes'  way  we  kin  make  our  pints 

Is — stickin'  to  de  hoe. 


To  fill  de  hed  wid  lamin' 
Dat  de  fingers  kan't  express, 

To  dis  poor  ig'nunt  brudder 
Don't  seem  to  be  de  bes' ; 

53 


'Weh  Down  Souf. 

To  git  de  edikashun 

An'  lam  to  work  ez  well, 

Seems  to  my  'umble  judgment, 
De  thing  dat's  gwine  to  tell. 


59 


'Weh  Down  Souf. 


MY  CHILDHOOD'S  HAPPY  DAYS. 

Many  poets  great  and  gifted,  whom  the  Muse's 

touch  has  blessed, 
Have  sung  in  rhythmic  measure,  at  the  spirit's  high 

behest, 
Of  the  days  of  childish  glory,  free  from  sorrow  and 

from  pain, 
When  all  was  joy  and  pleasure — and  wished  them 

back  again; 
But,  somehow,  when  my  mind  turns  back  to  sing 

in  joyous  lays, 
I  remember  great  discomforts  in  my  childhood's 

happy  days. 

Why,  my  earliest  recollections  are  of  pains  and  col- 
ics sore, 

With  the  meanest  kinds  of  medicines  the  grown 
folks  down  would  pour — 
60 


'Weh  Down  Souf. 

Ipecac  and  paregoric — and  though  I  hard  would 
kick, 

They  still  would  dose  and  physic,  "  'Cause  the 
baby  must  be  sick. ' ' 

When  I  think  of  this,  how  can  I  sing  a  song  in  joy- 
ous lays, 

And  speak  in  tones  of  rapture  of  my  childhood's 
happy  days  ? 


Off  to  school  I  then  was  started,  and  the  simple 

rule  of  three 
Was  as  hard  as  now  quadratics  or  geometry's  to 

me. 
And  then  the  awful  thrashings  with  a  paddle  at  the 

school, 
And  again  at  home  with  switches  if  I  broke  the 

simplest  rule. 
Oh !  my  life  was  one  vast  torment — so,  of  course, 

I'm  bound  to  praise 
The  time  that  poets  nickname  "our  childhood's 

happy  days." 


61 


'Weh  Down  Souf. 

On  a  cold  December  morning,  when  lying  snug  in 
bed, 

I  heard  the  sound,  "  You,  Webster  i' '  and  I  wished 
that  I  was  dead. 

I  knew  I  had  the  fires  to  make,  bring  water,  and 
cut  wood; 

And  then,  perhaps,  I  might  have  chance  to  get  a 
bit  of  food, 

When  on  to  school  I  trotted.  These  were  the 
pleasant  ways 

In  which  I  spent  that  "festive  time," — my  child- 
hood's happy  days. 

Father's  breeches,  cut  to  fit  me,  was,  of  course, 
the  proper  thing; 

And  nowhere  did  they  touch  me ;  my  one  '  *  gallus  ' ' 
was  a  string; 

I  couldn't  tell  the  front  from  back  part;  and  my 
coat  of  navy  blue 

So  variously  was  mended,  it  would  match  the  rain- 
bow's hue. 

'Twill  do  all  right  for  rich  white  boys  to  sing  these 
merry  lays, 

But  the  average  little  "Jap  "  fared  tough  in  child- 
hood's happy  days. 
62 


'Weh  Down  Souf. 

I  had  a  place  back  of  my  head  the  comb  could 
never  touch — 

I'd  jump  three  feet  when  tested.  At  last  I  cried 
so  much, 

Mother  said  that  she  would  cut  it.  Oh,  fate !  to 
see  me  then. 

My  head  was  picked  by  dull  shears,  as  if  some  tur- 
key hen 

Had  gotten  in  her  cruel  work;  and  the  boys  with 
jolly  ways 

Hallo 'ed  "buzzard!"  when  they  saw  me,  "in 
childhood's  happy  days." 

In  the  evening,  holding  horses,  selling  papers — 
"Evening  News!" 

To  earn  an  honest  penny  for  the  folks  at  home  to  use. 

Yet,  of  course,  I  had  my  pleasures — stealing  sugar, 
playing  ball, — 

But  I  can  not  go  in  raptures  o'er  that  season,  after 
all. 

And  we  repeat  our  childhood,  and  all  life's  sterner 
ways 

Are  mixed  with  rain  and  sunshine,  as  were  child- 
hood's happy  days. 

63 


'Weh  Down  Souf. 

Still  I  find  that  life's  a  "  hustle  "  from  the  cradle 

to  the  tomb, 
With  little  beams  of  sunshine  to  lighten  up  the 

gloom. 
If  we  can  help  a  brother,  and  mix  our  cares  with 

joys, 
Old  age  will  be  as  happy  as  the  days  when  we  were 

boys, 
Till  at  last  we  sing  in  rapture  heav'nly   songs  of 

love  and  praise, 
When  our  bark  is  safely  anchored, — there  to  spend 

our  happiest  days. 


64 


'Weh  Down  Souf. 


EXPOSITION  ODE. 

Read  at  the  opening  of  the  Negro  Building,  Atlanta,  Ga., 
October  2ist,  1895. 

To-day  we  come  to  show  the  world  what  God  for 
us  hath  wrought — 

Here,  where  but  thirty  years  ago  we  were  as  chat- 
tel bought; 

He,  painting  us  a  darker  hue,  with  hair  more  deep- 
ly curled, 

Has  blessed  us  with  both  brain  and  brawn,  the 
conquerors  of  the  world. 

With  grateful  hearts  we  thank  the  men  who  gave  to 
us  the  chance 

To  show  the  world  our  progress  made,  our  useful- 
ness enhance. 

Yet,  'twas  our  right,  and  not  a  man  in  justice 
could  oppose, 

For  Negro  hands  made  ' '  Dixie  ' '  bloom  and  blos- 
som as  the  rose. 

65 


'Weh  Down  Souf. 

We  bring  to-day  just  what  we  have,  from  school 

and  shop  and  farm — 
The  products  all  of  Negro  brain,  the  fruit  of  his 

own  arm. 
Judged,  not  by  heights  that  we  have  reached,  but 

depths  from  whence  we  came, 
There's  not  a  Negro  in  the  land  need  hang  his  head 

in  shame. 


We'll  show  the  North  their  millions  spent  have  not 

been  spent  in  vain; 
We'll  show  the  South  skilled  laborers,  who  do  not 

strike  for  gain; 
We've  left  for  aye  our  rude  estate,  to  shape  our 

lives  by  rule, 
And  banished    Reconstruction's  dream — "forty 

acres  and  a  mule." 


Our  children  here  will  come  and  view  with  pride 

this  great  display, 
And  babes  unborn  will  bless  us  for  the  page  we 

write  to-day; 

66 


'Weh  Down  Souf. 

We'll  prove  to  all  the  Negro's  worth,  who  here 

may  wish  to  come, 
To  see  what  we  black  men  have  done  to  build  up 

this  our  home. 


We  have  a  place  in  "  Dixie  Land;"  our  labor  built 

its  roads; 
We  cleared  its  forests,  tilled  its  fields,  and  bore 

the  heaviest  loads ; 
Our  blood  was  shed  in  its  defense,  dispute  it  ye 

who  will, 
For  Attuck  fell  at  Boston;  Peter  Salem,  Bunker 

Hill. 


And  in  those  dark  and  bloody  days,  while  fierce 

the  battle  rolled, 
As  North  and  South  had  gathered  arms  and  called 

each  other  foes, 
A  soldier  brave  upon  the  field,  a  faithful  slave  at 

home, 
He  then  disdained  to  think  of  shame  to  loved  ones 

left  alone. 

67 


'Weh  Down  Souf. 

But,  as  a  faithful  watch-dog  stands  and  guards  with 

jealous  eye, 
He  cared  for  master's  wife  and  child,  and  at  the 

door  would  lie, 
To  shed  his  blood  in  their  defense  'gainst  traitors, 

thieves  and  knaves, 
Although  these  masters  went  to  fight  to  keep  them 

helpless  slaves. 


What  progress  made?  The  answer's  here  for  all 
who  care  to  know. 

We  are  not  backward  tending;  but  the  best  that 
we  can  show 

Are  men,  who've  made  us  what  we  are,  the  lead- 
ers in  the  van, 

Our  preachers,  teachers,  scholars — all  an  honor  to 
the  land. 


A  Brown,  the  prince  of  financiers ;  a  Mitchell  bold 

and  true, 
A  Fortune,  Gains  and  Washington,  all  men  who 

dare  and  do; 

68 


'Weh  Down  Souf. 

A  Penn  who  gives  us  this  display,  and  women  good 

and  fair, 
We'll  scale  the  heights  by  others  reached,  and  place 

our  banner  there. 


What  tho'   we've  laggards  in  the  ranks — all  races 

have  the  same — 
We'll  opposition  overcome,  and  march  to  wealth 

and  fame; 
With  solid  front  for  God  and  right,  no  en' my  need 

assail, 
For  "right  is  right  as  God  is  God,"  and  justice 

must  prevail. 


But  slav'ry's  rude  and  galling  yoke  has  left  on  us 

its  stain ; 
Divisions,  petty  jealousies  and  hate  oft  spoil  our 

aim; 
And  struggling  'neath  the  damning  yoke,  we  rise 

and  kiss  the  rod, 
And  with  an  agonizing  cry  stretch  forth  our  hands 

to  God. 

69 


'Weh  Down  Souf. 

The  South 's  our  home;  'tis  here  our  eyes  beheld 

life's  morning  dawn, 
And  here  at  evening's  close  we'll  rest,  our  toils 

and  conflicts  done. 

No  politicians  should  divide  relationships  divine, 
No  arm  should  sever  friendships  formed  in  "  Days 

of  Auld  Lang  Syne. ' ' 

Here  tropic  birds  their  matins  sing,  and  sweet  the 
streamlets  flow, 

And  kindly  nature  gently  smiles  upon  the  vale  be- 
low. 

Shall  we  who  made  it  what  it  is  by  sweat  and  pain 
and  toil, 

Be  thought  to  be  unworthy  of  a  place  upon  its  soil? 

Here  scented  zephyrs  fan  the  cheek,  and  heavenly 

music  swells, 
And  God's  own  matchless  finger  paints  the  lovely 

hills  and  dells; 
Here  scented  fragrance  fills  the  air,  and  bright  the 

flowers  smile — 
Shall  ev'ry  scene  delight  the  view,  and  only  man 

be  vile? 

70 


'Weh  Down  Souf. 

God  is  not  dead,  though  justice  sleeps,  and  right 

must  conquer  might. 
The  South' s  our  common  country,  each  must  strive 

to  do  the  right; 
Too  long  we've  looked  outside  ourselves  to  seek 

some  guiding  star; 
We'll  cease  and  "  let  our  buckets  down  in  places 

where  we  are." 

With  interests  one  and  hopes  the  same,  we'll  look 

like  hopeful  youth, 
To  see  the  new  sun  dawning  with  its  satellites  of 

truth; 

Disfranchisement,  injustice  and  prejudices  gone, 
We'll  both  rejoice  together  at  the  coming  of  the 

dawn. 

Filled  with  these  expectations  now,  our  hope  takes 

fancy's  wing; 

But  not  alone  as  poet,  but  as  prophet  may  we  sing : 
This  scene  will  help  its  dawning — God  grant  we 

view  its  birth ! 
For  "  Dixie  Land"  is  still  to  us  the  fairest  spot 

on  earth. 


'Weh  Down  Souf. 


SKEETIN'  ON  DE  ICE. 

At  a  little  country  meeting,   in  a  log  house  near 

the  road, 
The  saints  had  duly  gathered  "  fur  de  wushup  ub 

deLord," 
When"Bru  Levi  'sen'    de    pulpit,"   cleared  his 

throat,  and  then  began : 
"  De  'spoundin'   ub  de  scripshur,  fur  to  cheer  de 

speretu'l  man." 

I  was  teacher  in  the  county,  and  was  in  duty  bound 

In  attendance  on  the  services,  to  help  the  breth- 
ren 'long. 

Brother  Levi  was  the  pastor,  and  dispensed  the 
gospel  here, 

As  he  misunderstood  it  at  twenty-five  a  year. 

The  day  was  warm  and  sultry,  sleep  was  getting  in 

my  eyes, 
When  this  most  unique  seimon  made  them  open 

with  surprise : 

72 


'Weh  Down  Souf. 

"  My    belubbed    congregashun,    I   bin   preachin' 

'bout  de  'possles, 
An'  took  my  tex'  whar  Paul  poked  his    'pissle  at 

de  'Fezhuns. 


But  to-day  I  gwine  to  tell  yo'  'bout  de  chillun  ub 

de  Lord, 
How  dey  crossed  de  ragin'  waters  at  de  spekin'  ub 

de  word. 
I   know  y'all  long  bin  won'drin'  how  de  chillun 

crossed  de  sea; 
'Tiz  jes'  ez  plain  ez  kin  be  to  er  'sper'enced  man 

like  me. 


You  see,  'twuz  in  de  winter  when  de  chillun  dar 
wuz  led, 

An'  de  norf  win'  wuz  a-blowin'  strong  ernuf  to  raise 
de  dead. 

Now,  yo'  see,  de  thing  wuz  easy,  an'  likewise  ber- 
ry nice, 

Fur  all  de  chillun  had  to  do  wuz  to  skeet  across  on 
ice. 

73 


'Weh  Down  Souf. 

But  when  ol'  Farro  kum  along  wid  dem  big  chayut 

wheels, 
De  ice  jes'  broke,  an'  all  er  dem  fell  in  head  ober 

heels." 
This  was  hard  on  my  intelligence  as  teacher  of  the 

school, 
And  so  I  rose  and  said  a  word,  although  against 

the  rule : 

"Beg   pardon,  brother  pastor,  but  geographies, 

you  know, 
Say  this  land  is  in  the  tropics,  where  can  be  no 

ice  or  snow. ' ' 
"  I  thanks  yo',  do'  I  does  not  like  no  'sturbmence 

on  dis  topic; 
But  in  dem  days  'twon't  no  gogerfies,  so,  'course 

dar  won't  no  tropics." 

You  can  see  I  was  dumbfounded;    the  brethren 

said,  "Amen," — 

And  thus  he  then  concluded,  ere  I  could  speak  again : 
"When  yo'  gwine  to  cross  de  water,  yo'  better 

tak'  advice, 
An'  'cepin'  de  Lord  is  wid  yo',  don't  skeet  across 


74 


Or  Lijah  wuz  de  bes'  man;  he' d  cut  de  pijin-wing 
An'  crack  his  heels  togcdder  keepin'  time" 


'Weh  Down  Souf. 


OL'  VIRGINNY  REEL. 

Ez  I  set  to-night  I'm  thinkin'  ub  de  days  now  pas' 

an'  gon', 

'Weh  down  in  ol'  Virginny  'mong  de  cohn; 
Whar  de  sweet  pertaters  growin'  an'  de  wadermil- 

lun  smiles, 

Fur  down  de  Souf  in  Dixie  I  wuz  bom. 
Dat  Ian'  to  me  is  dearer  dan  all  on  urf  besiz ; 

I  feel  de  tear  drops  down  my  ol'  cheeks  steal 
Ez  I  think  ub  al  de  pledjur  in  de  dear  ol'  sunny 

Ian', 
A-dancin'  ub  de  oP  Virginny  reel. 

When  de  daily  toil  wuz  ober  in  de  quarters  we 

would  meet, 

An'  sich  anudder  scufflin'  dar  would  be 
To  git  Miss  Susan  Johnsing,  de  Ca'line  County 

belle, 
To  dance  de  fus'  set  on  de  flo'  wid  me. 

75 


'Weh  Down  Souf. 

We'd  "  Walk  ol'  John  de  Blin'  Man,"  play  "  Hus- 

ko,  Ladies  Turn," 
Would    "Grine    de    Bottle"    or  de   "Bobkin 

Steal" 
But  'twon't  no  use  a-talkin' ;   de  fun  would  jes' 

begin 
When  all  would  dance  de  ol'  Virginny  reel. 

Ef  you  nebber  seed  de  moshun,  I  will  tell  yo'  how 

it  goes; 

'Tiz  a-bobbin'  up  an'  down,  a  hop  an'  jump, 
An'  a-turnin'  ebry  lady  ez  yo'  kum  back  down  de 

line, 

Jes1  like  a  bobtail  moc'sin  roun'  de  stump. 
"Miss  Liza  Jane"   is  lubly,  an'   "Balmoral"  is 

fin', 
An'  "Wipe  dem  Di'mon'  Winders  "  makes  you 

feel; 
But  not  "  Bounce  Aroun'  My  Sugar  Lump,"  nor 

"Turnin'  Good  Ol'  Man," 
Ken  'gin  to  tetch  de  oP  Virginny  reel. 


76 


'Weh  Down  Souf. 

Dar's  "Jinny  Put   de  Kittle  On,"  an'    "Shoo! 

MissPijie,  Shoo!" 

An'  den  "  King  William  Wuz  King  George's  Son," 
"Blin'  Man  Buff,"   an  "Gimme   Korner;"    also 

"Walk  de  Lonesum  Road," 
Whar  de  pint  wuz  gittin'  kisses — shorz  yo'  born; 
But  now  dey  'fuse  to  play  dem,  an'  kissin's  out  er 

style, 

'Cause  now  we  folks  is  gittin'  mighty  high; 
But  den   'twuz  free  an'   in 'cent,   'dout  a  bit  ub 

harm; 
'Twuz  better 'n  doin'  kissin'  on  de  sly. 

Ol'  'Lijah  wuz  de  bes'  man ;  he'd  cut  de  pijin-wing, 

An'  crack  his  heels  togedder  keepin'  time; 
His  teef  wuz  like  de  torn' -stones,  an'  face  like  pos- 
sum fat, 

An'  ebry  knot  wuz  stickin'  out  behin'. 
De  gals  wuz  dressed  in  horn 'spun,  'long  wid  dar 

brogan  shoes, 

An'  ef  dar  feet  would  tetch  yo',  yo'  would  feel, 
'Do'  de  boys  wore  bed- tuck  breeches,  dese  trifles 

wuz  forgot, 
While  'joyin'  ub  de  ol'  Virginny  reel. 

77 


'Weh  Down  Souf. 

An'  somehow  ez  I  think  agin  lib  bygone  happy 

days, 

'Do'  cares  an'  sorrows  menny  wuz  our  lot, 
Dis  lesson  presses  on  me — an'  forgib  me  when  I 

say: 

Yo'  should  alway  'joy  de  blessin's  dat  yo'  got. 
An'  den  I  sometimes  wonder,  ez  I  see  y'all  hop- 
pin'  roun', 

Wid  waltzes,  polkas,  dances  toe  an'  heel, 
Ef  you  really  hab  de  pledjur,  an'  ez  little  ub  de  sin, 
Ez  we  in  dancin'  ol'  Virginny  reel. 


'Weh  Down  Souf. 


A  ROSE. 

This  rose  of  the  garden  is  given  to  me, 
And  to  double  its  value,  'twas  given  by  thee; 
Its  lovely  bright  tints  to  my  eyesight  is  borne, 
Like  the  kiss  of  a  fairy  or  blush  of  the  morn. 

How  sweet  is  the  fragrance  that  is  wafted  to  me, 
As  the  scent  of  the  breeze  from  the  isles  of  the  sea. 
It  tells  of  the  care  of  that  Father  above, 
Who  sends  us  the  fragrance  to  show  us  His  love. 

Too  soon  must  this  scent-laden  flower  decay, 
Its  bright  leaves  will  wither,  its  bloom  die  away; 
But  in  mem'ry  'twill  linger,  the  joy  that  it  bore 
Will  live  with  me  still  tho'   the  flower's  no  more. 

Fond  hopes,   too,  must   perish,   its  green  leaves 

must  die, 
And  sweet  expectations  all  withered  must  lie ; 

79 


'Weh  Down  Souf. 

But  He  who  has  loved  us  and  given  His  Son, 
Sets  the  bow  of  His  promise,  and  bids  us  hope  on. 

May  our  friendship  ne'er  perish,  its  strength  ne'er 

decay, 

But  may  it  grow  stronger  and  stronger  each  day, 
And  may  the  All- Father  His  love  o'er  us  bend, 
Till  life  is  completed  and  heaven  the  end. 


80 


'Weh  Down  Souf. 


POMP'S  CASE  ARGUED. 

Pomp  stole  dem  breeches,  an'  'lowed  'twon't  sin, 
'Cause  he  stole  de  breeches  to  be  baptized  in; 
But  I  doubts  dat,  brudders;  le's  argify  de  case, 
Fur  we  can't  hab  de  young  lams  a-fallin'  frum 
grace. 

Ef  er  brudder  is  hongry,  an*  er  chickin  on  de  roos' 
Sets  a- temp  tin'  ub  de  saints,  why  'twon't  no  use 
Fur  de  callin'  ub  er  council;  de  case  am  plain, 
De  chickin  wuz  de  sinner  an'  dezerbs  all  de  blam'. 

But  breeches  is  dif'funt,  an'  stealin's  mighty  'rong, 
'Cause,  yo'  see,  he  moughter  borro'd,  sense  his 

mem'ry  ain'  long; 

An'  furgittin'  to  return  'um,  nobody  could  er  say 
Dat  he  stole  dem  breeches, — 'tiz  clear  ez  de  day. 

True,  his  moughter  bin  busted,  an'  de  seat  to'ed 

out — 

Fur  'tiz  kinder  strainin',  dis  leadin'  ub  de  shout; 
81 


'Weh  Down  Souf. 

But,  den,  he  could  er  patched  'urn,  an'  wid  coat 

tails  long 
Hab  cut  a  lubly  figger  'dout  doin'  enny  'rong. 

Maybe  prid'  wuz  de  kashun — dar  de  debbil  tempts 

to  sin, — 

An'  his  bed-tick  breeches  won't  good  'nuf  fur  him; 
But  I  moves  fur  to  'sclude  him,  'cause  he  nebber 

had  to  ought, 
Ef  he  stole  dem  breeches,  go  an'  git  hisef  caught. 


82 


'Weh  Down  Souf. 


WHEN  YOU  GITS  A  RABBIT  FOOT. 

Yo'  kin  always  hab  a  dollah, 

When  yo'  gits  a  rabbit-foot ; 
'Cause  de  luck  is  bound  to  follah, 

When  yo'  gits  a  rabbit-foot. 
You  may  not  want  to  tak'  it, 

But  'tiz  so,  shorz  yo'  born, 
No  matter  how  yo'  mak'  it, 

I'm  always  gwine  to  own 
A  good  ol*  rabbit-foot. 

All  yer  trubbles  seem  to  lebe  yo', 

When  yo'  gits  a  rabbit-foot; 
Nobody  kin  decebe  yo', 

When  yo'  gits  a  rabbit-foot. 
Jes'  always  git  a  lef '  foot, 

Don't  nebber  git  de  right; 
Ketch  de  rabbit  in  a  grabeyard, 

'Bout  de  middle  ub  de  night — 
Dat's  de  kind  ub  rabbit-foot. 

83 


'Weh  Down  Souf. 

Git  de  lef  foot  dat's  behin', 

Dat's  de  lucky  rabbit-foot; 
An'  ef  de  rabbit's  blin', 

Dat's  a  sho'  rabbit-foot; 
'Tiz  better'n  habin'  munny, 

'Cause  dat  may  git  away, 
But  wid  de  proper  rabbit-foot 

Yer  luck  is  dar  to  stay. 
Jes'  git  a  rabbit-foot. 

You'll  git  offis  'dout  votin', 

Ef  yo'  got  a  rabbit-foot; 
All  dese  rich  folks  is  a-totin' 

One  dese  same  rabbit-foots. 
Sum  dese  edikated  people 

Dat's  a-laffin'  so  at  me, 
Ef  you'd  look  into  dar  pockets, 

I  lay  enny thing  you'd  see 
Dey's  got  a  rabbit-foot. 


84 


'Weh  Down  Souf. 


MAT. 

In  the  swamp  by  a  black  gum,  in  a  little  log  hut 

Lived  Mat, 
The  toughest  little  fellow,  in  tatters  and  rags 

At  that; 
"A  reg'lar  good-for-nothing,"   the  neighbors  all 

vowed. 

He  would  rob  a  hen's  nest;  not  a  melon  he  allowed 
To  remain  in  the  patch — yet  we,  for  all  that 

Liked  Mat. 

With  his  tatters  all  flying  and  a  crownless  hat 

Came  Mat 
'Cross  the  hill  by  the  corn-field  and  "  sweet-tater  " 

patch, 

And  that 

Was  a  sign  that  the  "  taters  "  and  corn  had  disap- 
peared, 

For  when  Mat  was  about,  why  everybody  feared ; 
But,  then,  when  you  saw  him  your  sorrow  changed 

that 

For  Mat. 

85 


'Weh  Down  Souf. 

For  ten  or  eleven  little  brothers  and  sisters 

Had  Mat, 
And  his  poor  mother  labored  to  feed  and  to  clothe 

them 

At  that; 

And  work  in  the  country,  when  you  wash  the  whole 

day, 

And  receive  but  a  quarter  is  mighty  poor  pay, — 
No  wonder  he  was  ragged,  and  would  steal  at  that, 
Poor  Mat ! 

Yet,  the  world  often  wonders,  as  it  speeds  on  its 
way, 

At  the  Mats, 

Who  are  reared  in  ignorance,  the  world's  "good- 
for-nothings;" 

But  for  that, 
How  many  called  better,  who  have  ne'er  felt  the 

smart 

Of  poverty's  nettle  can  boast  of  a  heart 
As  free  from  guile  and  as  tender  as  that 
Of  Mat. 


86 


'Weh  Down  Souf. 


DE  GHANA  CUP. 

Our  church  had  a  meeting,  where  the  brethren 

gathered 

To  transact  the  business  they  had  for  the  Lord, 
To  turn  out  the  lambs  who  had  strayed  from  the 

sheep-fold, 
And  to  take  in  repentants  in  accord  with  his 

word. 

The  axe  had  been  falling  with  impartiality 
On  drunkards  and  policy- players  of  old, 
On  sisters  who'd  fallen  from  pathways  of  virtue, 
And  all  who  had  wandered  like  sheep  from  the 
fold. 

At  last  came  a  sister  whose  skirts  were  all  muddy, 
With  drabbling  in  sin  all  the  days  of  her  youth, 

Had  been  caught  and  excluded  'mid  tears  of  the 

brethren, 
But  now  would  return  to  the  pathway  of  truth. 

87 


'Weh  Down  Souf. 

"  I  am  truly  repentant,  the  Lord  has  forgiven; 
Since  last  month,  when  excluded,  I've  prayed 

night  and  day. 

Will  you,  brethren,  forgive  and  restore  me  to  fel- 
lowship, 

And,  with  Jesus    to    guide,    I'll   no  more    go 
astray  ?  " 


"  Bless  the  Lord !' '  said  the  brethren;  "  Amen !' ' 

said  the  sisters, 
"Thank  God,  she's  returning;  I  move — take 

her  in." 

The  motion  was  carried  with  great  hallelujahs 
For   the   sister  restored  from   the   by-ways   of 

sin. 
Brother  Slaughter  waxed  warm,  and  spoke  of  the 

prodigal, 

And  the  rejoicing  in  heaven  o'er  sinners  re- 
turned : 
"Ef  yo'  fall,  don't  yo'  woller,  yo'  kin  tell  a  true 

Christyun, 
Fur  down  in  de  heart  speretu'l  oil  will  burn." 


88 


'Weh  Down  Souf. 

"  De  sister  am  good  ez  befo',  ef  not  better, 

Fur  dear  is  de  lam's  when  returned  to  de  fol', 
Ef  yuz  gwine  ter  sin,  jes'  be  sho'  yo'  don't  woller, 

An'  yo'  sho'  ub  de  glory  ez  a  pijin  his  hole." 
Up  spoke  Brother  Van:  "My  brudder,  hoi'  on, 

dar! 

Youz  ressin  de  skripshur,  an'  leadin'  us  wrong. 
'Taint  better  to  wander  den  keep  de  straight  paf- 

way, 

An'  de  Lord  lubs  de  young  lam's  dat  keep  right 
along. ' ' 


"  I  once  had  a  chana  cup  I  sot  right  much  sto'  by, 

One  day  bein'  keerless,  I  drapped  on  de  flo' . 
I  patched  it  wid   glu',  sah,  an'   do'  it  held  water, 

//  nebber  did  ring  like  it  did  befo\ 
Yo'  may  dribe  in  a  nail  right  in  dis  here  pos'  here, 

Den  draw  out  de  nail,  but  de  hole  is  still  dar ; 
Yo'  maybu'n  your  fhar  arm,  an'  heal  up  de  bu'n, 
sah, 

But  de  schar  gwy  tell  on  you  wharebber  you 


89 


'Weh  Down  Souf. 

"True,  de  prodigal  son  got  sum  cloze  an'  sum 

vittles, 

But  long  he'd  been  starbin'  wid  nuthin'  to  wahr, 
While  de  boy  dat  staid  horn'  got  de  bes'  ub  de 

pickins, 

Wid  lots  er  fin'  raimen',  an'  plenty  to  sphar. 
Yo'  wimmen  who  stray  from  de  pafway  ub  virtue, 
May  be  'sto'ed  to  de  chuch  an'   yer  sins  plas- 
tered o'er; 
But  like  bells  widout  clappers  mus'  always  remain, 

sah, 
An1  dey  nebbcr  kin  ring  like  dcy  did  befo* ." 


90 


'Weh  Down  Souf. 


I  CAN  TRUST. 

I  can  not  see  why  trials  come, 

And  sorrows  follow  thick  and  fast; 

I  can  not  fathom  His  designs, 

Nor  why  my  pleasures  can  not  last, 

Nor  why  my  hopes  so  soon  are  dust; 
But  I  can  trust. 

When  darkest  clouds  my  sky  o'erhang, 
And  sadness  seems  to  fill  the  land, 

I  calmly  trust  his  promise  sweet, 
And  cling  to  His  ne'er-failing  hand, 

And  in  life's  darkest  hour  I'll  just 
Look  up  and  trust. 

I  know  my  life  with  Him  is  safe, 

And  all  things  still  must  work  for  good 

To  those  who  love  and  serve  our  God, 
And  lean  on  Him  as  children  should. 

Though  hopes  decay  and  turn  to  dust, 
I  still  will  trust. 


'Weh  Down  Souf. 


OLD  NORMAL; 

Read  before  the  Alumni  Association  of  the  Richmond  High 
Normal  School. 

Old  Time  with  his  sickle,  in  swift  onward  play, 

For  once  has  turned  backward;  we're  children  to- 
day, 

And  the  world  with  its  conflicts,  its  battles  and 
strife, 

Is  forgotten  in  pleasures  and  mem'ries  of  life. 

These  girls  with  their  puffs,  bangs  and  frizzes  ga- 
lore, 

Are  again  in  short  dresses,  with  white  pinafore; 

While  the  men,  with  stiff  collars  and  high  beaver 
hat, 

Are  boys  in  short  breeches,  and  patched  ones  at 
that. 

As  I'm  standing  here  reading,  I'm  quaking  with 

fear, 
For  I  think  'tis  Miss  Stratton  whose  footsteps  I 

hear; 

92 


'Weh  Down  Souf. 

Or  dear  Mr.  Manly,  or  sainted  Miss  Knowles, 
Comes  tripping  behind  me,  just  ready  to  scold. 

"Please,  Webster,  sit  down  there!"  I  fancy  she 

calls, 

While  Miss  Manly,  Miss  Hadley,  Miss  Patterson — all 
Come  trooping  before  me.  But  one  thing  I  know : 
I  can  step  by  Miss  Bass,  she's  so  awfully  slow. 

My  name  is  still  cut  on  the  seat  by  the  door — 
I'm  trying  to  cut  higher  than  in  days  of  yore; 
Yet  I  wonder  if  fame  can  give  me  the  joy 
I  found  at  old  Normal  when  I  was  a  boy. 

On  the  green  field  of  life  we're  playing  some  game; 
Our  base-ball  and  foot-ball  we're  playing  the  same. 
If  we  fail  in  our  kicking,  let  us  strive  all  the  more, 
The  world  kicks  much  harder  than  Normal  of  yore. 

Some  now  make  a  home-run,  and  multitudes  shout; 
While  some  strike  a  grounder,  and  others  strike  out. 
Tho'  fallen  and  beaten,  we  still  must  be  men, 
And  try  it  to-morrow  to  win  if  we  can. 

93 


'Weh  Down  Souf. 

Our  girls  of  old  Normal  are  still  jumping  rope — 
But  don't  let  it  trip  you  and  get  your  neck  broke, 
For  few,  like  old  Normal,  will  help  us,  alas ! 
When  once  we  have  fallen  from  virtue's  straight 
path. 


But  well  we  remember  no  boyhood  could  last ; 
The  world  called  for  men,  and  we  went  to  our  task ; 
Some  won  and  some  failed,  but  in  heart  we  are 

one, 
I  trust  just  as  true  as  the  day  we  begun. 

Some  fellows  are  lawyers,  and  sending  to  jail 
Their  poor  fellow-creatures,  nor  getting  them  bail; 
While  others  are  doctors,  and  curing  life's  ills — 
At  least,  if  not  curing,  are  sending  in  bills. 

Some  now  are  professors  and  teachers  in  schools, 
And  thrashing  young  urchins  for  breaking  the  rules ; 
Some  maidens,   some    matrons,   and   some    fond 

mammas, 
With  children  to  try  them  and  break  all  their  laws. 

94 


'Weh  Down  Souf. 

What  though  they  are  climbing  the  ladder  of  fame ; 
They  are  Ben,  Dan  or  Bowler — Hayes,  Johnston  or 

James; 

Though  clouded  with  care,  and  in  dignified  dress, 
They  are  Sallie  and  Julia,  Rose,  Anna  and  Bess. 

Some  fellows  are  down  now  who  then  strove  for 

fame — 

Maybe  gone  to  the  bad ;  —  they  are  ours  the  same ; 
Let's  throw  them  a  life-line  who 're  sinking  in  crime, 
And  allure  them  to  virtue  for  dear  * '  Auld  Lang 

Syne." 

But  some  fail  to  answer  at  call  of  the  roll ; 

Our  eyes  fill  with  tears  —  they  are  missed  from  the 

fold; 

In  glory  we'll  greet  them  when  battle  is  done; 
Pat,  Walter  and  others  will  meet  us, — at  home. 

Let's  recount  our  battles,  take  courage  and  aim 
To  help  on  each  other  to  honor  and  fame ; 
Nor  suffer  our  banner  to  trail  in  the  dust, 
Or  the  bright  sword  of  honor  in  scabbard  to  rust. 

95 


'Weh  Down  Souf. 

We  think  of  our  sorrows,  we  think  of  our  joys, 
And  in  this  reunion  are  again  girls  and  boys; 
Old  Time  can  not  dampen  our  spirits  so  gay, 
We'll  laugh  at  his  efforts, — we're  children  to-day. 

By  this  hallowed  Elysium  our  tent  is  now  spread, 
But  soon  to  new  duties — new  paths  we  must  tread ; 
The  world  calls  for  heroes;  our  race  calls  for  men, 
Unselfish  and  true  to  our  duty  as  then. 


96 


'Weh  Down  Souf. 


GINGER  SNAPS  AND  CIDER. 

Again  the  Christmas  time  is  here, 

With  joy  in  fullest  measure, 
And  every  fellow,  great  and  small, 

Is  looking  out  for  pleasure. 
To  me  the  days  no  brighter  seem, 

Although  my  vision's  wider, 
Than  when  I  was  a  country  lad, 

With  ginger  snaps  and  cider. 

And  when  'twas  near  "  hog-killin'  time," 

The  world  seemed  to  me  bigger, 
For  Christmas  then  was  on  the  way, 

When  I  could  cut  a  "  figger;" 
Most  homely  were  the  joys  we  had — 

"  Molasses  stews  "  and  "  parties  " — 
But  innocent  the  joy  they  gave, 

With  fun  both  pure  and  hearty. 

97 


'Weh  Down  Souf. 

Long  past  is  now  this  simple  joy, 

But,  with  the  Christmas  season, 
Do  I  feel  just  as  happy  now, 

And  with  as  good  a  reason? 
I  wonder  if  my  heart's  as  free 

Now  since  my  vision's  wider, 
As  in  those  bygone  Christmas  days 

Of  ginger  snaps  and  cider? 


Am  I  now  deaf  to  sorrow's  cry, 

Do  I  pass  the  poor  unheeding? 
Do  I  truly  wish  for  them  the  joy 

For  which  their  hearts  are  pleading? 
Do  I  delight  to  bring  a  smile, 

And  hearts  cast  down  to  brighten, 
And  sympathize  with  others'  woes, 

And  help  their  lots  to  brighten? 


As  came  the  "  God-Man  "  from  above 
To  Bethl' hem's  lowly  manger, 

To  seek  and  save  the  wand' ring  sheep, 
The  homeless  and  the  stranger; 


'Weh  Down  Souf. 

So  be  it  ours  some  heart  to  cheer, 
As  comes  this  time  of  pleasure, 

And  fill  the  cup  of  lonely  ones 
With  joy  in  fullest  measure. 


Some  sit  to-day  in  gilded  halls, 

Secure  from  seeming  troubles, 
While  others,  with  a  single  crust, 

Are  shiv' ring  in  their  hovels. 
We  wonder  oft  why  this  is  true — 

But  life,  at  best,  is  fleeting, 
And  oh,  what  recompense  will  come, 

With  heaven's  eternal  meeting. 


I  sometimes  think  we're  growing  up 

To  be  a  wondrous  people, 
But  yet,  I  fear,  in  building  we're 

Commencing  with  the  steeple. 
Without  a  basis  broad  and  deep, 

With  virtue  its  foundation, 
And  truth  and  right  as  corner-stones, 

We  can  not  build  a  nation. 

99 


'Weh  Down  Souf. 

On  social  hops  and  fancy  balls 

Society  now  fattens, 
But  yet  I  find  oft  little  souls 

May  dwell  'neath  silks  and  satins; 
Hypocrisy,  deceit  and  lies 

May  mean  our  scope  is  wider, 
But  give  me  honest  truth  and  love, 

With  ginger  snaps  and  cider. 


100 


'Weh  Down  Souf. 


I  WONDER  HOW  THIS  IS. 

I'm  not  a  bad  fellow,  but  just  "  kinder  midlin," 
Not  a  devil  incarnate,  nor  saint  dressed  in  white; 

But  "'bout  half-and-half,"  with  a  sprinklin'  of 

devil, 
And  enough  of  the  angel  to  keep  me  near  right. 

Yet  often  I  wander;  my  feet  get  entangled, 
'Mid  briers  and  quicksands  too  often  I  stray, 

And  anxious  I  ask  can  I  reach  the  pathway, 
As  sinful  and  crooked  I  oft  lose  my  way. 

Once  I  went  to  a  funeral;  the  chap  was  a  "  tough 

one," 

A  gambler,  a  drunkard,  he  cheated  and  lied, 
A  deeply-dyed  rascal,  but  gave  big  donations; 
So  the  preacher  just  fixed  him  all  right  when  he 
died. 

101 


'Weh  Down  Souf. 

I  went  to  the  graveyard  and  looked  on  the  tomb- 
stones— 

What  lovely  inscriptions!  all  praising  the  dead; 
Every  one  there  was  good,  every  one  had  reached 

heaven — 
I  wondered  where  all  the  bad  fellows  were  laid. 

And  thus  says  the  world ;  if  you've  friends  or  have 

money 
You  are  certain  of  heaven,  your  sins  plastered 

o'er; 

But  the  poor,  seedy  devils  who  have  empty  pockets, 
Nobody  knows  if  they're  in  heaven  or  no. 

Perhaps  this  is  right,  and  maybe  up  yonder 
The  wonder  will  be,  not  that  we  were  bad, 

But  as  good  as  we  have  been,  'mid  all  of  the  weak- 
ness, 
And  all  the  temptations  that  each  must  have  had. 

But  we'll  find  lots  of  folks  we  thought  were  in  heaven 
Have  missed  it;  while  others,  assigned  down  be- 
low, 
Are  exalted,  for  there  full  justice  is  given; 

By  the  heart  God  judges  the  rich  and  the  poor. 
102 


"'Scuze  me,  mistis,  but  dar's  sumfiri* 
De  matter  wid  dem  strings." 


'Weh  Down  Souf. 


MISS  LIZA'S  BANJER. 

Hi!  Miss  Liza's  got  er  banjer; 

Lemme  see  it,  ef  yo'  please ! 
Now  don'  dat  thing  look  pooty, 

A-layin'  'cross  yer  kneeze, 
Wid  all  dem  lubly  ribbins, 

An'  silber  trimmin's  roun'. 
Now,  mistis,  please  jes'  tetch  it, 

To  lemme  hear  de  soun'. 


'Scuze  me,  mistis,  but  dar's  sumfin* 

De  matter  wid  dem  strings ; 
I  notis  it  don*  zackly 

Gib  de  proper  kinder  ring; 
An'  den  de  way  yo'  hoi'  it 

Ain't  lik'  yo'  orter  do. 
Now,  mistis,  won't  yo'  lemme 

Jes'  try  a  chune  fur  yo'  ? 
103 


'Weh  Down  Souf. 

Now  lis'n  to  de  diffunce; 

I'se  got  the  thing  in  chune, 
An'  de  music's  lik'  de  breezes 

Dat  fills  de  air  in  June. 
Fur  a  banjer's  lik'  a  'ooman — 

Ef  she's  chuned  de  proper  pitch, 
She'll  gib  yo'  out  de  music 

Dat's  sof,  melojus,  rich. 


But  when  yo'  fail  to  chune  her, 

Or  to  strike  de  proper  string, 
Yo'  kin  no  more  git  de  music, 

Den  mek'  a  kat-bird  sing. 
An'  'taint  always  de  fixin's 

Dat  makes  a  'ooman  bes', 
But  de  kind  ub  wood  she's  made  un 

Is  de  thing  to  stan'  de  tes' . 


I  s'pose  yer  plays  yer  music 
Jes'  lik'  yo'  hab  it  wrote, 

Or — what  is  dat  yo'  call  it — 
A-playin'  by  de  note? 
104 


'Weh  Down  Souf. 

Yo'  kin  fill  yer  head  wid  music 

Ez  full  ezit  kin  hoi', 
But  yo'  nebber  gwine  ter  play  it 

'Tell  yo'  gits  it  in  yer  soul. 

T'ain't  de  proper  notes  dat  makes  yo' 

Feel  lik'  yo'  wants  to  cry, 
But  de  soul  dat's  in  de  music 

Dat  lif's  yo'  up  on  high; 
An'  'taint  always  de  larnin', 

'Do'  a  splendid  thing,  I  kno', 
Dat  lif's  de  low  an'  'umble 

To  higher  things  belo*. 

Keep  larnin',  den,  Miss  Liza, 

An*  when  yo'  wants  ter  know 
Ef  yo'  kin  play  de  banjer, 

Jes'  kum  to  Uncle  Joe ; 
Jes'  fill  yer  head  wid  music, 

Ez  full  ez  it  kin  hoi' 
But  de  music  from  de  banjer 

Must  fust  be  in  de  soul. 


105 


'Weh  Down  Souf. 

HOPE. 

When  evening  shades,  the  night's  fair  warning, 

Doth  gild  the  spires  with  the  last  lingering  ray, 
The  sun's  last  tint  is  hope's  bright  dawning; 
The  gloom  will  pass,  the  night  shades  fade  away. 
Bright  hope  gives  warning 
Of  daylight's  dawning, 
When  gloom  is  past,  night's  darkness  chased  away. 

When  sorrow,  care  and  pain  unceasing, 

Beset  our  pathway  and  our  souls  appall, 
We  still  can  trust  that  love  unceasing 

That  gilds  the  stars,  yet  marks  the  sparrow's  fall. 
That  love  imploring, 
Our  trust  enduring, 
Shall  pierce  the  gloom  by  faith  in  Him,  our  All. 

When  death's  dark  night  its  shadows  gathers, 

Hope  brightly  beams  and  sheds  her  cheering  ray ; 
Whate'er  betide,  we  trust  our  Father, 

Who  clothes  the  fields  with  flowers  in  bright  array. 
Through  ages  winging, 
His  praises  singing, 

New  life  shall  dawn  with  Heaven's  eternal  day. 
1 06 


'Weh  Down  Souf. 


DE  BAPTIS'  CHUCH. 

I  b'leves  in  'lijun; 

An'  I  'joys  it,  too, 
'Cause  I  bin  born,  hunny, 

Right  thu  an'  thu; 
An'  I  bin  dug  up 

By  de  gospel  plow, 
An'  I'm  jes'  sho'  fur  glory 

Ez  I  wuz  dar  now. 


But,  somehow  or  ruther, 

'Do'  I  kan't  tell  why, 
Ef  I  wants  to  feel  happy, 

Like  I  gwine  fur  to  fly; 
An'  feel  ef  I  died, 

I  wouldn't  kheer  much — 
I  mus'  'ten'  dem  meetin's 

At  de  Baptis'  chuch. 
107 


'Weh  Down  Souf. 

De  Mefdis'  good, 

An'  de  Cammelites,  too, 
But  it  takes  an'  oP  Baptis' 

To  sing  'um  right  thu; 
An'  I  don'  b'leve  de  sinner 

Ebber  bin  born, 
Dat  kin  stan'  out  'gainst 

A  Baptis'  mourn. 


'Cause  when  oP  Lige 

Git  his  han'  to  his  jaw, 
An'  'gins  fur  to  whoop  'um, 

An'  snort  an'  rar, 
De  stoutest  oP  sinner 

Is  boun'  fur  to  fall, 
'Cause  he  can't  stan'  'ginst 

Dat  Baptis'  call. 


Maybe  sprinklin's  good, 
An'  porin's  right, 

But  berry  me  deep 
Down  out  er  sight; 
108 


'Weh  Down  Souf. 

"  I'm  Baptis'  bred, 

An'  Baptis'  born, 
An'  when  I'm  ded 

Bar's  a  Baptis'  gone." 

I'm  jes'  a-libbin' 

De  bes'  I  know, 
An'  tryin'  to  be  hones', 

Whil'  I'se  here  below; 
'Cause  dis  I  knows, 

Dat  I  done  bin  " born,'1 
An'  I  keeps  on  too  tin' 

De  Baptis'  horn. 

I  don*  know  much 

'Bout  doctrin's  here, 
An'  de  diflunt  'lijuns, 

An'  I  don'  kheer; 
Ef  Gawd  Ermighty  ax  me, 

I  won't  say  much, 
But  tell  Him  I  'longed 

To  de  Baptis'  chuch. 


109 


'Weh  Down  Souf. 


PA  YIN'  FUR  DE  HYDIN. 

"  Kum  up  here  an'  git  salvashun, 
'Tis  fur  eb'ry  trib'  an'  nashun; 
Kum  all  yo'  pizin  sinnuz, 
Salvashun  now  is  free; 
Jes'  step  up  to  de  fountin, 
While  de  water  is  a-runnin' ; 
Ef  yo'  wanter  go  to  glory, 
Jes'  foller  arter  me." 

"  Now  it  ain't  no  use  er  talkin', 
Fur  de  sperit  is  er  walkin' ; 
'Do*  your  sins  is  lik  er  mountin, 
Jes'  ez  big  ez  big  kin  be, 
Jes'  a  drop  er  dis  huh  water, 
Ef  you  tak'  it  ez  yo'  orter, 
Will  make  y'all  brazin'  sinnuz 
Almos'  jes'  ez  good  ez  me." 
no 


'Weh  Down  Souf. 

The  sermon  soon  was  ended, 

And  the  brethren  said  'twas  splendid, 

And  the  sisters  felt  so  happy, 

That  they  scarcely  touched  the  ground, 

Then  the  deacon,  old  but  sprightly, 

Began  to  step  up  lightly, 

To  gather  in  the  pennies, 

As  he  passed  the  basket  'round. 

"  I  dejecks,"  said  Brother  Peter, 
A  new  converted  "creeter," 
"  Fur  de  pastor  said  salvashun, 
Like  de  water  huh  wuz  free. ' ' 
"  By  dem  words  I  is  abidin', 
But  yo'  mus'  pay  fur  de  hydin," 
Said  the  pastor,  "an'  yo'  understand, 
De  hydin  huh  is  me." 


in 


'Weh  Down  Souf. 


OL'  MISTIS. 

Oh,  de  times  is  fas'  a-changin', 

Ez  de  years  ar'  rollin'  on, 
An*  de  days  seem  mighty  lonesum', 

Sense  de  good  oF  times  is  gon'. 
While  I'm  'joycin'  in  my  freedum, 

Nor  wish  fur  slab'ry  days, 
Yit  it  warms  my  heart  to  'member 

Sum  good  oF-fashun  ways. 

De  pledjur  ub  de  harves' 

De  huntin'  ub  de  coon, 
'Weh  down  in  de  low  groun', 

By  de  shinin'  ub  de  moon; 
De  dancin'  in  de  cabin — 

An'  didn't  we  hab  de  fun, 
While  de  banjer  wuz  a-twangin', 

When  de  daily  wuck  wuz  don'. 
112 


'Weh  Down  Souf. 

Ub  all  de  plezzun  mem'riz, 

Dar's  one  dat  fills  my  heart, 
'Tiz  de  thought  ub  dear  ol'  Mistis, 

An*  'twill  nebber  frum  me  part. 
No  matter  what  de  trubble 

De  Lord  wuz  pleased  to  sen', 
We  had  jes'  to  tell  ol'  Mistis, 

She  would  alwa's  be  a  fren'. 


Ef  de  oberseer  'buze  us, 

An'  frum  de  lash  we'd  run, 
An'  weery,  col',  an'  starvin', 

Afeard  to  kum  back  horn', 
Jes'  git  word  to  ol'  Mistis, 

She'd  smoov  de  trubble  o'er, 
An'  back  we'd  kum  a  sneakin', 

An'  hear  ub  it  no  mo'. 


When  sickness,  kheer  an'  sorrow 
Gib  nights  ub  akin'  pain, 

An'  tears  frum  werry  eyelids 
Kum  pou'in'  down  like  rain; 


'Weh  Down  Souf. 

Racked  wid  pains  an'  scotched  wid  febers, 

Wid  lim's  a-growin'  col', 
She  had  liniments  fur  de  body, 

An'  de  Bible  fur  de  soul. 


An'  when  de  'partin'  speerit 

Would  fly  to  yuther  lan's, 
She'd  gently  clos*  de  eyelids 

Wid  tender,  reb'rent  han's, 
An'  wid  words  ub  consolation 

Would  pint  de  heart  abov', 
To  whar  dar  is  no  shadders — 

De  heb'ny  Ian'  ub  lov'. 


When  de  ebenin'  sun  wuz  settin', 

On  a  Sunday  arternoon, 
We'd  gether  in  de  great  house, 

An'  jine  her  in  a  chune; 
Den'  she'd  read  de  fam'ly  Bible, 

An*  lif'  her  soul  in  prayhr, 
Tell  I  eenmos'  see  de  angels, 

An'  'majin  I  wuz  dar. 
114 


'Weh  Down  Souf. 

All  I  knows  erbout  de  'lijun, 

I  wuz  teeched  besize  her  knee, 
All  erbout  de  blessid  Sabyur, 

Who  died  fur  eben  me; 
An'  when  I  gits  to  glory — 

It  kan't  be  long,  I  kno'— 
I  specks  to  meet  oP  Mistis 

On  de  bright  an'  happy  sho'. 


'Weh  Down  Souf. 


IS  DAR  WADERMILLUNS  ON  HIGH  ? 

Dey  tells  erbout  heben,  an'  de  streets  ub  gol', 
An'  de  harp  dat  I'll  play  bime-by; 

But  de  thing  dat  puzzles  me  mo'  an'  mo', 
Shell  I  eat  wadermilluns  on  high? 

Dey  tells  ub  de  robe,  an'  de  starry  crown, 
An'  de  ribber  dat  glides  'long  by; 

Ub  de  tree  ub  life,  an'  twelve  kinder  frut, 
But  nuthin'  'bout  milluns  on  high. 

Dey  sez  dat  de  puh  an'  de  good  is  blest 

Wid  manshunz  in  de  bright  sky; 
But  nobody  tells  dis  chile  ub  grace 

Dat  he'll  eat  wadermilluns  on  high. 

Dey  sez  dat  my  tears  will  be  wiped  away, 

No  sorrer  nor  sighin'  kum  nigh; 
But  I  think  I'd  cry  tell  my  eyes  bus'  out, 

Could  I  git  no  milluns  on  high. 
116 


'Weh  Down  Souf. 

Dey  tells  ub  hunny  an'  milk  an'  things 

Dat  de  saints  gwy  git  bime-by; 
Den  huccum  dey  kan't  hab  a  wadermillun  patch 

In  de  lubly  green  fiel's  on  high? 

But  in  dat  book  what  tells  erbout  heb'n 

Dey  couldn't  put  all  ef  dey  try, 
An'  de  parts  dats  nebber  bin  writ,  I  think, 

Tells  ub  big  wadermilluns  on  high. 


117 


'Weh  Down  Souf. 


COOKIN'  BY  DE   OL'-TIME    FIRE-PLACE. 

I 'be  heard  ub  lots  ub  cookin'  by  de  cooks  deysay 

is  fin', 

Dat  fixes  up  dar  eatin's  by  de  books; 
But  wid  all  dar  fancy  dishes,  dat  may  suit  de  high- 
est min', 
Dey  kan't  kum  up  to  dese  ol'-fashun  cooks. 

An'  'dough  dey  hab  dar  ranges,  an'  eb'ry  thing  in 

style, 

An'  sumtimes,  maybe,  dey  kin  hit  de  tas'e; 
But  when  it  kums  to  cookin'  dat  kin  beat  dem  all 

de  whiT, 
Git  A'n'  Dinah,  an'  de  ol'-time  fire-place. 

She  nebber  had  no  larnin',  but  it  kum  jes'  nat'yul 

so, 

She  seemed  to  be  cut  out  to  suit  de  place ; 
An'  Marster  he  wuz  happy,  howebber  things  would 

go> 
Wid  A'n'  Dinah  at  the  ol'-time  fire-place. 

118 


'Weh  Down  Souf. 

She  could  bake  de  bes'  ol'  flab-jacks  dat  ebber 

yo'  behol', 

Dat  would  mak'  yer  raouf  jes'  water  all  de  while; 
An'  de  way  she'd  roas'  a  possum,  an'  tak'  him  up 

right  whole, 
Would  mak'  de  baby  in  de  cradle  smile. 

She  could  cook  a  sweet  pertater  'tell  'twuz  mealy 

to  de  mouf, 

An'  bake  a  corn-cake  to  de  proper  brown; 
Stew  a  ol'  hare  in  de  fashun  yo'  kin  only  fin'  down 

Souf, 
An'  tell  when  de  pot  don'  bilin'  by  de  soun'. 

An'  how  she'd  bake  de  ash-cake  between  de  collud 
leaves ! 

I  couldn't  begin  to  tell  yo'  ef  I'd  try; 
But  she  wuz  fines'  in  de  county,  I  really  do  believe, 

When  she'd  tackle  ol'  Virginny  pun'kin  pie. 

An'  I  kno'  I  could  die  happy,  do'  my  pledjurs  here 

am  few, 

Ef  befo'  I  finished  up  dis  urfly  race, 
I  could  git  a  meal  ub  vittles,  jes'  like  I  used  to  do, 
When  A'n'  Dinah  used  de  ol'-time  fire-place. 
119 


'Weh  Down  Souf. 


UNCLE  'RASTUS  AND  THE  WHISKEY 
QUESTION. 

I  don'  hear  dem  rebolushuns  'bout  whiskey  en  all 

dat, 
But  yo'  ain't  gwy  nebber  pas'  'um.  I  tells  yo'  dat 

right  flat; 
Don't  let  y'alls  smartnis  fool  yo',  en  try  to  do  too 

much, 
'Cause  yo'  jes'  gwy  bring  'bout  'sturbance,  en  yo' 

tryin'  to  bus'  dis  chuch. 

Y'all  know  dat  whiskey  bin  here  long '  fore  we  wuz 

born, 
En  t'ain't  nebber  trubbled  nothin' — better  let  wel 

'nuf  'lone; 

'Size,  Paul  don'  tole  you  take  it,  jes'  fur  de  stom- 
ach's sake, 

We  cert'ny  gwy  bay  de  scripshur,  den  what  y'all 
speck  to  make? 

120 


'Weh  Down  Souf. 

I  hear  y'all  kote  dat  scripshur,  "  Ef  eatin*  meat 

'fen,  don't  eat." 
But  Paul  won't  talkin'  'bout  whiskey,  'cause  he 

pint'ly  menshuns  meat; 
Dat  drunkards  khant  reach  Heben,  de  guard  won't 

let  'um  in, 
But  dat  don't  mean  wid  whiskey,  but  folks  dat's 

drunk  in  sin. 

"  Look  not  on  de  wine  cup, ' '  is  what  de  Word  tells 

me, 
Well,  don't  dat  mean  to  drink  it?     'Tis  plain  ez 

plain  ken  be. 
But  we   'cided   'fore  we  kum    here  to  vote   dat 

moshun  down, 
'Cause  we  argued  it  at  meetin's  we  had  all  ober 

town. 

In  kos  we'z  pozed  to  dancin'  en  all  dem  no-harm 

sins, 
An'  will  turn  'um  out  like  lightnin'  ef  tiz  dem  upper 

tens; 
But  all  sich  things  ez  drinkin',  playin'  policy  en 

such, 

Am  far  too  triflin'  matters  to  fotch  befo'  dis  chuch. 
121 


'Weh  Down  Souf. 


NIGHT  ON  DE  OL'  PLANTASHUN. 

Upon  de  oP  plantashun,  jes'  erbout  de  crack  ub  day, 

You  could  lis'en  fur  de  oberseer's  horn; 
An*  by  sunrise  we  wuz  movin',  fur  we  had  to  git 

away, 

An'  do  an  hones'  day's  wuck  shorze  yo'  bo'n. 
But  when  de  shadders  gethered,  an'  we  had  done 

our  turn, 

We'd  put  away  de  shuvel  an'  de  hoe, 
Fur  ol'  marster  never  bothered,  ef  he  knowed  our 

wuck  wuz  done, 
Ef  we  den  injoyed  de  fiddle  an'  de  bow. 

Sumtimes  our  wives  an'   chillun  wuz  on  de  'jinin' 

farm, 

Maybe  ten  or  'leben  miles  or  mo'  away; 
We'd  walk  it  'dout  no  trouble,  nor  did  it  don'  us 

harm, 

An'  be  fresh  an'  ready  fur  de  wuck  nex'  day. 
122 


'Weh  Down  Souf. 

We  could  dodge  de  patterrollers  ef  we  didn't  hab 
a  pass — 

Dat  kind  lib  thing  wuz  only  fun  fur  us — 
An'  'stid  ub  us  kumplainin',  we  'joyed  it  to  de  las', 

An'  wuz  thankful  to  de  Lord  it  won't  no  wuss. 

Some  would  gether  in  de  cabin,  or  in  de  corn- 
house,  whar, 

Wid  tubs  an'  pots  an'  kittles  settin'  roun', 
Dey  would   rassle  wid  de    Father  in  strong  an' 

earnes'  prayhr, 

Whil'  de  water  in  de  vessels  ketched  de  soun'. 
'Cause  'do'  we  mout  be  sinnuz,  an'  wander  frum 

de  fol', 

Our  'zires  wuz  always  right  ez  dey  could  be, 
An*  our  'pendunce  in  de  Bible,  whar  ub  de  Ian' 

we'z  tol', 
Whar  servunts  frum  de  marster  is  set  free. 

Maybe  ignunce  made  us  happy  when  de  marster 

treat  us  fair, 

An'  unkumplainin'  when  we  found  him  mean; 
An'  days  ub  toil  an'  trouble  cheered  by  nights  so 

free  from  care, 

On  de  ol'  plantashun,  now  jes'  like  a  dream. 
123 


'Weh  Down  Souf. 

An'  when  ol1  Death  shall  take  us,  whar  night  kin 

kum  no  mo' , 

An'  we  meet  in  Heben  above,  to  nebber  roam, 
We'll  talk  up  dar  togedder,  wid  loved  ones  gon' 

befo', 
Ub  de  nights  in  de  ol'  plantashun  horn'. 


124 


'Weh  Down  Souf. 


AUNT  CHLOE'S  LULLABY. 

Hesh  !  my  baby ;  stop  yer  fuss, 
I's  'fraid  yuz  gittin  wuss  an'  wuss; 
Doncher  cry,  an'  I  gwy  mek' 
Mammy's  baby  'lasses  cake. 
Hesh!  my  lubly  baby  chiP, 
I  gwy  rock  yo'  all  de  whil' ; 
Nuffin  gwyne  to  ketch  yo'  now, 
'Cause  yer  mammy's  watchin*  yo'. 
Sleep !  my  little  baby,  sleep ! 
Mammy's  baby,  Lou ! 

How  dem  dogs  do  bark  to-night ! 
Better  shet  yer  eyes  up  tight; 
Dey  kan't  hab  dis  baby  dear; 
Mammy's  watchin',  doncher  fear. 
Hear  dem  owls  a-hootin'  so? 
Dey  shan't  ketch  dis  baby,  do'. 
Jes'  like  mistis  lub  her  chil', 
Mammy  lubs  dis  baby  too. 

125 


'Weh  Down  Souf. 

Sleep !  my  little  baby,  sleep ! 
Mammy's  baby,  Lou ! 

Mammy's  baby,  black  an'  sweet, 
Jes'  like  candy  dat  you  eat, 
Mammy  lay  yo'  in  dis  bed, 
While  she  mek  de  whi'  folk's  bread. 
Angels  dey  gwy  look  below, 
Watch  dis  baby  sleepin'  so. 
Go  to  sleep,  my  hunny,  now, 
Ain't  yer  mammy  watchin'  yo'? 
Sleep !  my  little  baby,  sleep ! 
Mammy's  baby,  Lou. 


126 


'Weh  Down  Souf. 


GOOD  NIGHT  ! 

Good-night !     The  day  is  done, 
And  evening  shadows  softly  fall — 

Good-night ! 

The  night  bird's  gently  cooing  to  its  mate, 
And  slowly  now  the  silv'ry  moonbeams 
Deck  the  evening  sky  with  their  pale  rays,- 

Good-night!  good-night! 

Good-night !     The  day  was  long, 
And  weary  feet  now  gladly  say, 

Good-night ! 

Forgot  is  toil  as  gentle  sleep, 
The  "sweet  restorer,"  softly  steals 
And  fills  our  eyes.     To  all  we  say, 

' '  Good-night !  good-night ! ' ' 

Good-night!     Earth's  day  must  close, 
And  Death's  cold  summons  make  us  say, 
"Good-night!" 
127 


'Weh  Down  Souf. 

The  pain  be  past  of  life's  rude  days, 
Our  feet  press  hard  on  Jordan's  brink, 
And  then  to  realms  of  blissful  dreams — 
Good-night !  good-night ! 

Good-night !     We  fondly  hope 
For  us  that  brighter  day  will  dawn. 

Good-night ! 

Oh !  may  we  live  in  loving  trust 
That  heaven's  gate  may  open  wide, 
When  earth's  last  scenes  fade  from  our  view. 

Good-night !  good-night ! 


128 


APPENDIX. 


INTRODUCTION  TO  AUTHOR'S  FIRST 
VOLUME  OF  POEMS.* 

This  volume  of  poems  from  the  pen  of  a  mind  en. 
dowed  of  God  with  rich  fancy,  which  has  been  fertil- 
ized by  liberal  culture,  patient  industry,  and  that 
tact  which  makes  most  of  opportunities,  is  presented 
to  the  public  as  an  illustration  of  the  dialect  or  patois 
of  a  part  of  the  Negro  race  whose  ancestry  was 
nearer  Africa  than  the  class  represented  in  age  and 
opportunity  by  the  writer  of  them. 

These  poems  are  tradition  and  history  in  dialect  or 
patois.  They  show  the  power,  continuity  and  tenac- 
ity of  race  under  circumstances  the  most  adverse  and 
the  most  untoward,  as  to  its  preservation  of  type  and 
language,  the  outgrowth  of  a  condition  the  race  was 
powerless  to  relieve  itself  from,  and  which  uncon- 
sciously stamped  itself  upon  the  people  over  thou- 
sands of  miles  of  territory  of  a  race  foreign  to  the 
Negro  race. 

Much  that  is  best  in  the  American  Negro  is  tradi- 
tional ;  all  that  is  worst  is  historical,  and  not  of  his 
writing. 

In  these  poems  the  author  has  faithfully  preserved 

*  The  majority  of  tne  poems  in  Mr.  Davis's  first  book,  "  Idle 
Moments,"  are  republished  in  this  book.— THE  PUBLISHERS. 

129 


Appendix. 

the  dialect  and  something  of  the  folk-lore  of  the 
Negro- American.  The  writer  was  born  and  reared 
in  his  loved  Virginia.  He  came  upon  the  scene  just 
as  the  clouds  and  mists  were  rolling  away.  This 
nearness  to  slavery,  this  environment  throughout  his 
useful  life  as  student  and  educator,  makes  these 
poems  the  more  to  be  admired  as  a  "  counterfeit  pre- 
sentment," not  alone  of  how  the  Southern  Negro 
talked  in  days  of  slavery  but  of  how  the  Southern 
whites  talked,  of  how  all  the  people,  in  the  rural  parts 
of  the  South  talk  now. 

A  peculiarly  noticeable  and  interesting  fact  as  to 
the  physical  strength  of  the  Negro  race  type,  all  may 
see  in  the  colored  people,  though  the  stream  of  Negro 
blood  be  so  shallow  as  to  be  discernable  only  in  the 
octoroon ;  yet  the  Negro  is  stamped  indelibly  in  this 
class,  in  features,  in  hair  or  in  some  prominent  race 
peculiarity.  So  also  is  the  strength  of  impression 
made  upon  the  English  language  of  America  as 
marked  and  distinctive  in  the  dialect  of  all  the  people 
of  the  South  Atlantic  and  the  South  and  Southwest- 
ern States,  without  distinction  of  race. 

There  is  no  purpose  to  do  Africa  and  our  ancestry 
the  injustice  of  implying  that  the  language  of  the 
plantation  is  an  African  language,  or  an  African 
provincialism,  any  more  than  to  say  that  the  planta- 
tion patois  is  English. 

The  great  majority  of  Negroes  brought  from  Afri- 
ca into  the  colonies  and  later  into  the  States  of  the 
United  States,  were,  judged  by  appearances,  of  an 
inferior  type  from  most  of  the  races  of  that  region, 
and  in  the  main  were  Congo  Africans,  and  brought 
with  them  their  maternal  language,  the  Congo,  be- 

130 


Appendix. 

tween  which  and  the  language  of  Europe  there  exists 
the  greatest  dissimilarity.  Those  not  natives  to  the 
Congo  region,  were  from  the  interior  and  coast 
tribes.  Now  all  the  original  immigrants  were,  by 
the  system  of  traffic  peculiar  to  American  slavery, 
scattered  throughout  the  colonies  and  the  States. 

The  effect  of  this  separation  upon  their  language 
was  plainly  shown  in  their  adherence  to  the  accentu- 
ation of  it,  to  the  peculiarity  of  pronunciation  of  Eng- 
lish words,  a  peculiarity  inseparable  from  the  bent 
of  their  mother  tongue,  their  African  languages. 

These  peculiarities  of  speech  were  transmitted  from 
father  to  son  in  an  unbroken  line  of  centuries.  Yet 
so  strong  have  been  the  cords  and  chains  of  lan- 
guage, where  the  race  has  been  most  numerous,  that 
the  training  of  the  schools  has  not  been  able  to  break 
the  hold  of  paternal  speech,  an  admixture  of  African 
accentuation  grafted  upon  European  languages  —  as 
spoken  in  the  United  States. 

One  illustration  will  serve  to  make  plain  the  fact 
now  dwelt  upon.  There  appears  to  be  no  race  of 
Europeans,  the  English  excepted,  who  pronounce  the 
Greek  theta,  as  the  ancient  Greeks  did.  There  is  no 
African  who  has  reached  his  majority  in  Africa 
whom  I  have  heard  of,  who  can  pronounce  as  did 
the  Greeks  and  Anglo-Saxons,  theta,  th. 

In  this  matter  of  pronunciation  there  is  between 
Africans  in  Africa,  and  French,  Spanish,  Portuguese, 
Italian  and  North  Europe  peoples  this  similarity,  an 
inability  to  make  the  sound  th  as  in  English.  These 
races  for  th,  say  d.  Hence  the  patois  of  the  planta- 
tion is  dat,  dis  and  dem,  for  that,  this  and  them. 
What  Frenchman,  born  and  reared  in  France,  can 


Appendix. 

say  theater  as  the  Greeks  of  old  or  Anglo-Saxon  of 
today,  or  the  Arab  would  pronounce  it?  So  difficult 
is  this  sound  to  make  that,  in  teaching  Arabic,  the 
that,  d,  of  Arabic  has  by  grammarians  been  changed 
to  dal  in  the  Arabic  grammar  used  in  Africa. 

The  Anglo-Saxon  Americans  who  were  born  and 
reared,  and  who  lived  among  the  blacks  from  in- 
fancy to  old  age  heard  the  jargon  or  patois  of  the 
Negro  in  his  frantic  effort  to  overcome  the  heredi- 
tary limitations  of  his  own  language,  more  frequent- 
ly than  the  purity  of  England's  English  spoken,  and 
unconsciously,  the  provincialisms  in  speech  of  the 
blacks  have  been  stamped  upon  the  English  of  the 
South,  whether  Southerners  (whites)  would  have  it 
so  —  or  otherwise,  and  the  infection  is  upon  their 
speech. 

Herein  is  an  anomaly,  the  power  and  influence  of 
an  inferior  people  over  the  speech  of  a  superior  race. 

The  word  inferior  is  here  to  be  taken  as  adventi- 
tious, and  not  as  natural.  The  Negro  race  in  Ameri- 
ca to-day  is  to  the  whites  —  inferior  from  circum- 
stance rather  than  anything  inherent  in  soul  and 
brain.  The  progress  already  made  shows  this  be- 
yond cavil  or  controversy.  Let  us  hope  that  this 
progress  which  does  not  make  us  vain,  but  grateful 
to  God,  is  but  the  initial  step  to  a  better  civilization 
than  we  have  known. 

The  crudities  of  speech  portrayed  in  these  poems, 
in  some,  will  provoke  laughter,  in  some  contempt, 
and  not  infrequently  offend  the  sensitiveness  of 
some ;  and  yet  they  serve  to  remind  us  of  the  misfor- 
tunes of  our  ancestry  and  the  cruelties  of  an  alien 
people.  But  the  progress  made  and  being  made  by 

132 


Appendix. 

us  in  learning  convinces  us  that  this  patois  is  not 
natural  to  the  American  blacks,  but  simply  marks 
the  transition  of  Afncan  illiteracy  to  an  alien  tongue. 
A  hundred  years  hence  when  illiteracy  among  the 
Negroes  of  America  shall  be  less  pronounced  than 
it  is  among  the  masses  of  the  whites  now,  this  patois 
will  prove  interesting  and  amusing  to  our  posterity, 
whose  command  of  English  and  European  languages 
will  not  be  inferior  to  that  of  the  American  scholarly 
class  of  to-day. 

This  part  of  Negro  tradition  and  history,  so  well 
preserved  in  verse  by  the  muse's  spirit  breathed  into 
these  poems,  serves  to  convince  us  that  if  this  work 
is  to  be  best  done,  most  faitnfully  retained  to  us,  the 
source  and  means  must  be  Negro  and  not  Caucasian. 

Phyllis  Wheatly  of  a  century  ago,  Paul  Dunbar 
and  Daniel  Webster  Davis  of  to-day,  are  poets  whose 
race  identity  may  not  be  questioned,  and  are  race 
representations  in  literature  showing  the  world  that 
the  muses,  like  the  gods  of  past  ages,  delight  to  dis- 
port themselves  among  the  gentle  Ethiopians. 

JOHN   H.  SMYTHE. 
902  Seventh  street,  N. ,  Richmond,  Va. 


133 


GLOSSARY. 

Biggis' biggest 

Bimeby by  and  by. 

Ghana china. 

Cohn     corn. 

Chidlins hog's  entrails, 

'dough although. 

'dout without. 

Erbout about 

Ez as. 

Fhar fair. 

Gallus suspender. 

Gent'mun gentleman. 

Gib' give. 

'Gin begin. 

Gimme give  me. 

Gwine going. 

Gwy going. 

Ho'ped helped. 

Huccum how  comes. 

Hydin hydrant 

Inchin*      .  coming  slowly. 

Kayed   .   .    .   .   ;.'/.',,' carried. 

Kaze because. 

Ketch catch. 

Kheer care. 

Kotched caught. 

Lemme •  «  •   •   •   -let me. 


Glossary. 


'Lijun religion. 

Marster master. 

Medjur     measure, 

Mek make. 

Melojus melodious. 

Mistis mistress. 

Nat'yul natural. 

'Nogurashun inauguration. 

Nuther neither. 

or old 

Patterrollers policemen 

or  patrolmen. 

Peckin'     impose  upon. 

Pijin pigeon. 

Pledjur pleasure. 

Prayhr prayer. 

Ras'le wrestle. 

Reggin reckon. 

Ressin wresting. 

Roos' roost 

Schar scar. 

Sho1 sur. 

Shorz sure  as. 

Speretu'l spiritual. 

Sphar spare. 

Surt'ny certainly. 

Tak'  hur get  out  of  the  way. 

Tetch touch. 

Totin'    .   .   .   » carrying. 

Tredjur treasure. 

Tuther the  other. 

Ub of. 

Wadermillun watermelon, 

135 


Glossary. 


Wahr    ,  , wear. 

'Weh     . .; '  * '.; away. 

Whar where. 

Wuck work. 

Wuz was. 

Ya'll you  all 

Yer your. 

Yurz ears. 

Yuther other. 

Zerbs .  deserves. 


136 


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